


Cracks

by MrsRen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dual POVs, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Head Boy, Head Girl, Romance, eighth year, post-war PTSD, tiny bit of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 08:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19866646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/pseuds/MrsRen
Summary: The world keeps spinning right beneath his feet. Except it's as if the world was put back together not quite right, and he can't find his footing. Harry finds that the only one can help him is Hermione, and that's an entirely other problem.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Harmony Celebration hosted by Harmony & Co on FB! In celebration of us reaching 2000 members, what better way to celebrate is there than new stories featuring our favorite pairing! This is eight chapters long, and most importantly, complete. I owe so much gratitude to MykEsprit, AlexandraO, and RooOJoy for looking this over, and offering me invaluable advice as I muddled through.
> 
> As another important note, thank you so much to HeartofAspen who prompted this over a year ago in the group, and I was able to snatch it up for myself. The prompt is as follows: Can someone write a fic where Harry goes through post-war PTSD and ends up going to therapy and they recommend that he puts his memories in a pensive? Then, Hermione accidentally (somehow) stumbles into them and gets to see all the things she missed in canon, like his defeat of the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets for one example? And afterward, she goes to comfort him and they kind of fall into eachother's arms... As you will see, I did modify the prompt a bit while keeping the core of it so I could shape a multi-chapter story around it.
> 
> I'm sorry for the long note, I promise it's the only one! Thank you for reading!

* * *

The sofa was soft below him and his fingers idly fidgeted with the loose button of the upholstery. The room was lit by the lamp beside him, heat rolling off of it and seeping through his thin jumper. For the middle of June, he shouldn't be wearing a jumper, but he hadn't been interested in listening to Molly since he'd arrived at the Burrow.

The seconds ticked by, each soft sound beginning to group together, and grate on what little patience he has left. His jaw was tightly clenched as he leaned against the back of the sofa, his arms folded across his chest.

"Mr Potter,"

"Please," Harry interjected. "Just call me Harry. I've been coming to these sessions for three weeks now."

The therapist, his name was Dr Smith, or Jack as he preferred, sighed. It's a low sound, hardly audible at all as he looked to the man seated in front of him. "Yes, we've been meeting for a month now, and you've not spoken about why you are here."

Harry's eyes darkened. "I've spoken about it," he commented, his voice dry. "I'm here because Molly and McGonagall are completely unable to mind their own bloody business." Harry spat, drumming his fingers against his denim clad knee. "I would like nothing more than to end these ridiculous sessions."

Mr Smith ran a hand tiredly down his face. "I'm sure you know where the door is then, Harry."

Several seconds passed before Harry blew out a breath. "What do you want me to tell you?" he asked.

He ignored the triumphant smile crossing his face. Mr Smith shuffled the stack of papers as he donned his glasses, a pair of thick black frames. Clearing his throat, he began, "Mrs Weasley told me at the beginning of May that you've been suffering from nightmares, yes? Are they still prevalent?"

Harry scowled. He didn't want to talk about this, not now, and certainly not with a stranger.

It was another wasted hour in the long string of sessions that only grew longer each week.

* * *

The Burrow was quieter with Fred's hand on the Weasley clock being stuck on _mortal peril_ for what Harry imagined would be forever, and a solemn cloud had settled over the home.

Harry sat on the highest point of the roof, having grabbed his broom, and flown to the top. Molly was looking for him without a doubt, and while he knew he shouldn't avoid the woman and her kindness, Harry just didn't have the energy for her questions.

_How was your session? Did you talk about anything useful, not that you need to tell me specifics? I think Ginny is down by the stream. Maybe you ought to join her? Oh, dear, have you been eating enough?_

Molly meant well, he knew that. It was just so exhausting to go on with the charade that everything was fine because he was the bloody Chosen One. He was mourning just like everyone else, and if he were honest, he was doing a bang-up job of it as well.

His broom rested beside him, the wind ripping past him so he tightened his grip on the broomstick. It wouldn't do for it to go flying off of the roof. Looking out over hills that laid in front of the Weasley home, he attempted the breathing exercises the therapist had discussed with him that morning.

Harry hadn't gotten through two sets of breathing exercises when a sharp crack slicing through the air garnered his attention. From his vantage point, no one would have thought to look up for him—he went off on his own more and more every day—but he had a rather clear view of the figure. His eyes widened as he realised there wasn't a girl beside him.

Ron had returned to the Burrow, without Hermione, which couldn't mean anything good. By the looks of it, he was furious to boot as he dragged his luggage behind him. Harry had just caught sight of just how red Ron's face was before the front door opened and slammed shut.

Harry grumbled under his breath before he mounted his broom and made the descent.

* * *

Ron slammed his way through the kitchen, tossing his luggage into the living room. "Fucking Hermione—"

Molly cut his crass tirade short with a sharp _thwack!_ to the back of his head with a wooden spoon. "Ronald, how dare you march into this house and start cursing!"

He rubbed the back of his head where there would no doubt be a bruise, one that the Weasley matriarch would not allow him to use bruise paste for. "Mum," Ron muttered.

Harry made himself known, stepping through the door after leaning his broom against the wall. "Welcome back." He gave a one armed hug to Ron, clapping his back before stepping away. Pretending he hadn't heard the beginning of the tangent, he asked smoothly, "Where is Hermione? Did she decide to stay for the whole summer?"

Ron's face grew red once more, his eyes narrowing. "Yes, she's staying in Australia for the summer."

Harry already knew that. The only troubling notion was that Ron was meant to stay _with_ Hermione in Australia until they returned to Hogwarts. "Oh, well, that's understandable, right?" Harry replied.

His friend had never been the type to hold things in for long. "I guess so. What's not understandable is that she fucking dumped me!"

Molly whirled, her spoon poised in her hand to give her youngest son a good whipping. "I'm sorry to hear that Ron, but if you don't cease your cursing, I will give you a walloping you'll be feeling for a year."

He muttered a muted curse under his breath.

Harry squared his shoulder, raising his chin as the door open and Ginny slid into the kitchen. "What happened?" Harry asked.

Ron rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and Harry knew that he would hear how it was all Hermione's fault. "She told me we f—mucked things up by ever giving this a try."

Ginny remained quiet, moving to take a biscuit off of the plate on the counter. She listened carefully but turned away from the scene in front of her.

Ron continued. "It's hogwash. She didn't even give us time to give it a proper go. Plus, she must have realised, if she's so bloody smart," Ron huffed, "that I would need a while to get this whole boyfriend thing down."

Harry's mouth opened before it snapped shut. He would not say a word. "Well, maybe the two of you will work it out," Harry said.

Ginny snorted. "Ron, do you really want to be with Hermione, or are you just angry that she was the one to dump you?"

Harry excused himself before he had to listen to Ron's sputtering defence.

* * *

At half-past three in the morning, Harry sat in the middle of his bed, a silencing charm in place. Ron was fast asleep in the bed beside his, tangled up in the quilted spread.

Using his wand as a light, Harry penned a quick letter.

_Hermione_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Ron arrived at the Burrow today, so I'm sure you can imagine the surprise. I'll spare you the details, as I'm sure you are bright enough to already know any and everything he had to say._

_I haven't heard from you since you left. Are you okay? How are your parents? I know you made Ron leave, and you're likely conflicted about it, but you'll let me know if you need anything, won't you? I could be there within a day. Being the Chosen One comes with its own perks, such as international portkeys being granted before the two-week waiting period._

_Write back as soon as you're able, please._

_Love, Harry._

* * *

Her reply came within three days, along with a parcel. Over breakfast, Harry tore it open, a notebook slipping from the package. His name was embossed across the front, and there was a letter to accompany it.

"Is that from Hermione?" Ron asked, craning his neck to read over Harry's shoulder.

_Dear Harry,_

_I know that this will arrive at breakfast and that Ron will probably attempt to read it since I have not responded to his letters. Don't worry; the ink will be invisible to him, no matter what spell he uses to read it._

_I'm well. My parents are still adjusting, but I believe we are past the worst of it now. They were angry with me for taking their choices away from them and sending them away, but they're more angry for the danger I willingly put myself in. If I wasn't already considered an adult in the Wizarding World already, I fear they would yank me out of Hogwarts. In the beginning, I worried they would ask me to choose._

_Ron wasn't too comforting when that happened._

_Thank you for the offer, but I'm enjoying myself. You don't need to come over here to my rescue, Mr Chosen One._

_How is Ginny? She owled me a few weeks ago, but I haven't been able to reply. Please tell her I'm not ignoring her, just the owl reception here is terrible. Please use the notebook to contact me. It's made for you and only you, but whatever you write in it will appear in my copy._

_Give the Weasley's my love and tell Ron that he left several things here. I wasn't able to have them packed in time to send with this, but I'll send them soon._

_Love, Hermione._

Harry's eyes shot open as the letter burst into flames after he'd read the last line. "Um," he muttered, meeting Ron's heavy stare. "She said that you left some things, and she would have them sent to you."

"Wonderful. Did she say anything else? Has she gotten her knickers out of a twist yet." Ron asked scathingly.

Harry ignored that, knowing he would have nothing polite to say, and all it would do is start a fight. "Ginny, she wanted me to tell you she was sorry for not owling back yet, but that she misses you."

Ginny brightened, smiling to herself. "How is she?"

Ron muttered something derogatory under his breath.

Harry answered, resisting the urge to hit Ron. "She says that she's doing well, and her parents are adjusting to having their memories restored." Harry tried very hard not to think about the fact that it was the first time he'd spoken to his own girlfriend in a little over a week.

* * *

_Harry,_

_What happened?_

He stared down at the notebook; it's ink invisible to anyone who might try to look at it. And he knew that Ron had tried, despite telling the redhead it was meant to serve as a journal after the war.

In hindsight, Harry hadn't expected Ron to believe it.

Several seconds passed as he stared at the paper. So she already knew. It was unsurprising, he supposed, considering media scavengers like Rita Skeeter had already gotten wind of it. Hermione still had her subscription to the Daily Prophet, and there was little doubt she'd seen the headline of the morning.

**HARRY POTTER AND GINEVRA WEASLEY SPLIT AMIDST RUMORS.**

_I assume its rubbish?_ Her scrawled handwriting appeared as she didn't wait for a response. _Harry, if you don't reply to me, I'll pop into the Burrow and ask you myself._

He almost considered that. At the moment, he could use his friend in the country rather than half a world away. Ashamed of his thoughts, Harry picked up a quill and replied. _It wasn't working anymore, and I knew it wasn't going to improve on my end. We broke up last week. You understand?_

It was a low blow; he thought after the ink seeped into the pages and vanished. Calling her own failed relationship into the thick of things didn't serve a purpose beyond riling her up.

_I understand, but I'm still confused by it all. I thought the two of you were doing well when we left? The pair of you couldn't keep your hands to yourselves._

He remembered. _I'm not handling the end of the war as well as I thought. I dwelled on Ginny and me for a long while, but I've come to the realisation that I cared for the prospect of being in love, but I wasn't truly in love at all._

_That's a mature decision, Harry. I'm proud of you. What rumours did Skeeter create to sell her bloody words?_

He chuckled to himself, his thumb grazing his bottom lip as he raised his hand. Some things would never change, and one of them was surely Hermione's sense of loathing for Rita Skeeter.

_Considering you and Ron had split, I think she's using the notion of us as a couple again._

Hermione's reply came instantly, her handwriting messy and furious. _It would seem that she hasn't learned a thing._

_I think not, but she's also claiming that I've become a slag myself, shagging anything that walks._

He could imagine Hermione laughing out loud. _Well, you should set the record straight. Neither you nor Ginny deserves this treatment in the press. You saved the world, and Ginny is a hero just as well._

_Is that an order?_

_Fix it. I have to dash. We're attending the Sydney Opera House tonight and having dinner. I'll talk to you tomorrow, depending on whether you're awake._

Oh, yes, time zones. Hermione was ten hours ahead of him, and it sometimes made for difficult correspondence. Often, he stayed up late or woke early just to talk to her before the day began. She did the same, several times a week as she insisted that it wouldn't be fair for him to be the only one losing sleep.

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway, and Harry's head snapped up. Standing there awkwardly was Ginny, and Ron lingered behind her. "Dinner is ready. Mum asked us to come and get you," she said.

The smile disappeared from Harry's face completely. Merlin, if Ron had suspected the notebook before, he surely would now. "Okay," Harry replied, setting the notebook on the bedside table. "Sorry for holding up dinner."

* * *

_So, Ron tried to open the notebook?_

_Yes, it blasted him backwards and put a human-sized hole in the bedroom wall. Did you plan for that?_

_No, but I had hoped for it._

* * *

After the incident in which Ron tried to use the notebook for himself, acting on his own suspicions, Harry decided that it was time to leave the Burrow. It was a teary-eyed conversation where Molly insisted that he stay.

Harry shook his head. "No, Molly. I appreciate your hospitality, but it's awkward between Ginny and I. This was her home first, and I want her to feel comfortable." And it was true, but he knew that his ex was lingering just outside the doorway of the kitchen.

"Ginny wouldn't mind you staying," Molly began, but she fell silent. "I understand that your decision is made, though I don't think such a young man should live on his own."

Harry smiled. "I'll be fine."

"You're welcome for dinner any time of the week, dear. Tell Hermione the same for if she returns before the beginning of term."

They hadn't talked about it. Harry had no idea when the curly-haired witch would return at all. "I'll pass the message to her."

"I apologise for Ron's behaviour…" Molly trailed off. "I know that he's been giving you an awful time since you're still friends with Hermione, and they've broken up. I hope that the three of you will sort your friendships out." She smiled weakly.

"Yes, I do too."

* * *

On an early Tuesday morning, Harry was still lying in bed. Grimmauld Place still didn't feel like home, but he was working through it. He still saw Sirius no matter where he looked, and the pain wasn't quite as sharp as it had been two weeks prior. On the nightstand beside him, the notebook's pages glowed.

Harry snatched it, sitting up and flipping it open.

_I'm coming back to England tomorrow. I assumed I ought to since it will be a week before the term begins._

He was writing before he'd given it any thought. _Where will you be staying? Are your parents returning as well?_

_No, they've stayed here. They prefer Australia. I think I'll rent a room at the Leaky until it's time to board the train. Can we meet for dinner tomorrow night though? I'm dying to see you, and since you're no longer at the Burrow…_

She didn't have to say that she was worried about running into Ron.

_Why stay at the Leaky? I have a perfectly good room here where you can stay. I'll meet you where your portkey lands?_

_It will be at five o'clock in the morning. Why don't you sleep in, and you can add me to the wards?_

_I'll add you, but I'll be up. What do you want for breakfast?_

_Sleep, lots and lots of sleep._

He laughed, looking around the room, and realising that there was a terrible amount of tidying to do before she arrived.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had lost count of the times he's sat across from Dr Smith. The room was cold, a chilly draft rolling through it, and Harry bounced his knee impatiently. "Dr Smith," his voice was not unkind, but there's an edge that's never been there before. "I'm sorry, but I'm in a hurry. I'm meeting a friend for lunch."

Five hours.

He'd met Hermione in his drawing room five hours ago, wrapping her up into a fierce hug that nearly squeezed the life out of her. She'd patted his back, laughing as he buried his face into her unruly hair.

At the present moment in time, she was probably still rolling around the bed in the guest room, promising herself that she would sleep for only five more minutes.

Dr Smith snapped his portfolio shut, leaning forward. "A friend?" he asked, arching a dark brow. "Is it one of the friends you've mentioned to me this summer?"

Harry blinked. Had he mentioned Hermione? He wasn't all too sure and didn't that sound just terrible? Gnawing his lower lip, he shrugged. "The sessions blur together. Half of the time, I'm not sure what all we've discussed."

The man across from him smiled, though it was only a faint curve of his lips. "Perhaps that's why we find ourselves back at the beginning each time. If I may, who is this friend?"

Harry hesitated.

"Might I remind you of patient confidentiality? Unless you're planning to commit a crime with this friend of yours—in which case, don't tell me—nothing leaves the room." Dr Smith said. He must have believed he was being helpful.

Harry knew all about how nothing he said would be repeated, except for the occasional tape recorder that came into the sessions. "I just don't want to talk about her with you. She doesn't know about the therapy."

Dr Smith ceased with the tapping of his muggle pen. "She?" he asked idly, leaning forward. "I assume that it's not Miss Weasley. I _do_ read the Daily Prophet from time to time. Hermione Granger then?"

His eyes widened behind his wireframes as he spluttered. "How did you know?"

Dr Smith offered a kind smile that seemed to never slip no matter how many times he raised his voice. "You've mentioned how you don't have too many friends you keep in contact with, Harry. It was just a well placed guess. How is she?"

"I wouldn't know. We went straight to sleep when she got in this morning." A slight flush crept up Harry's cheeks. "I didn't mean for it to sound that way." He hastily explained. "She's been in Australia for the summer, and she returned to the country this morning. She's staying at Grimmauld, with me, until the beginning of the term."

"So you've decided to return to Hogwarts then?"

Harry's expression darkened, him squeezing his eyes shut, as well as clenching his fists at the sudden subject change. "I didn't have a choice in the matter."

"Why not?"

Harry glared at the man, attempting to stand from his seat, only to sigh and take his seat once more. "You won't sign my release form to start Auror training, that's why. I didn't see a point in skipping the term altogether. I would be miserable."

"I would love to sign the release, Harry, but you're a danger to yourself and everyone around you if you were in the field."

"I do fine on my own, thanks."

"Do you? I thought you had help while you were on the run."

Harry's hand twitched toward his wand, and _this_ was why his therapist seized it after he entered the room. "Yes, I had help."

"As an Auror, you would have a partner, Harry."

"I'm aware of how it bloody works!" Harry yelled, his hand curling into a fist atop his knee. "I went through the career planning with Professor McGonagall. I don't have... whatever it is you call it!"

Dr Smith didn't sigh or raise his voice _ever_. It was unnerving to have the man maintain his composure, especially when he was dealing with the Boy-Who-Broke-Everything-In-Sight. He rubbed his temples, leveling Harry with a look. "We still have another half hour before the session completes."

Harry didn't return the saccharine smile Dr Smith gave him. "Can't I leave early, just this once? I don't want her to wake up and realise I'm gone. She'll ask tons of questions."

"Are you ashamed to be attending therapy? I know that I've mentioned it to you, but there is nothing to be embarrassed about."

He _wasn't_ embarrassed. "I killed Voldemort." Harry spat.

"I know. No one can question that since you've done it twice now. You were living on the run for a year, and you had the Dark Lord lingering around in your head for years."

"Merlin," Harry hissed. "I wish Molly and McGonagall had kept their traps shut!"

"They care about you, and they want what's best for you. It's my professional opinion that joining the Auror Corps isn't what's best for you right now."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, utterly exhausted and ready to put his fist through the vase to the right of him. "I'm a fighter!" he roared, his eyes bright. "That's what's best for me, putting someone in front of me to the end."

Dr Smith tilted his head to the side. "End? As in taking their life?"

Fuck, Harry hated when he turned everything into a question, but it had been happening for close to ten weeks now. "It's apparently all I'm good for! Everyone expects me to just bounce back after the war, and it's, it's—" Harry cut himself off, taking three deep breaths as they had told him to do. "It's a load of rubbish, honestly."

"I'll let you leave early if you'll do one thing for me, and I'll know if you don't." Dr Smith said, sliding his portfolio onto the cherry oak desk. "Your friend is a Muggleborn, correct?"

Harry bristled, eyeing the doctor carefully. "What does that matter?"

Dr Smith rolled his eyes. "Please refrain from breaking all the glass in my office. Before you see me next, ask her about post-traumatic stress disorder. You can work it into a conversation, Harry. She doesn't have to know how it relates to you, but I think you should be honest with her. She won't think any less of you."

"She thinks I'm strong," Harry muttered.

"There's a quote about that. Someone said that being weak for a moment doesn't mean you've always been weak. Perhaps you've only been strong for too long?"

 _My whole life,_ Harry thought sarcastically. "Sounds like bullshite to me, but I'll ask her. Have a good day, Doc!" he called over his shoulder after snatching his wand for himself.

* * *

Grimmauld Place was silent around her when she finally stirred. Summer in Australia, ten hours ahead of Britain, had been kind to her. However, the time difference was killer, and she suspected it would be several days before she adjusted. Hermione sat up in bed, swinging her legs over the side and padding across the room.

The bathroom was fully stocked, a familiar shampoo and body wash waiting for her in the shower. She didn't dwell on wondering how Harry had remembered that, but she took advantage of the vanilla scented soap as she climbed into the shower.

As she was wrapping the robe around her body, her hair still wet and clumped together against the plush material, the Floo roared to life downstairs.

"Hermione?" Harry called up the stairs, his footsteps quickly following. "Are you still asleep?"

She grabbed her wand, pointing it toward the door. It was best to lock it. Harry was the type to barge it before asking questions. "No, I'm just now getting dressed. I'll meet you downstairs in a minute." The doorknob jiggled below his grip and she rolled her eyes. _Some things never changed._

"Okay. I have takeaway," he said through the door.

Hermione quickly towel dried, pulling her jeans up her legs before grabbing a shirt that either belonged to Ron or Harry. The familiar quidditch top was loose on her, and she realised it was probably Harry's given that it didn't drop nearly to her knees. Piling her hair onto the top of her head, even though she knew she was likely to regret it later, Hermione tied it up before sliding her wand through the messy bun.

Harry was sitting at the kitchen table if one could even call it that after she'd bounded down the stairs. The table looked as if it was about to fall apart, and she doubted it had been replaced in the last two generations. "You slept in for a long time."

She rolled her eyes. "I was tired."

"Obviously," he drawled. "Technically it's not takeaway." Harry admitted.

Her mouth watered at the plates he laid across the table between them. "Molly cooked us food? She doesn't know I'm here though, right?"

Harry shook his head. "I told her I was famished, and this was what she prepared. She also told me to come by more often to pick up food if I still refused to come to dinner."

A smile curled across her face as she took a fork from his extended hand and dug into the Shepard's Pie. "She must miss you terribly. You should stop in. Didn't you say that Ginny was handling the breakup well?"

"Yeah," he spoke with a full mouth, at least having the decency to cover it. "Ginny isn't mad at me anymore. She realised that we were just holding on, but Ron is another story. He's still furious that I dumped his sister a second time."

Hermione nodded to that. "I don't have a sister, but I assume I would be angry on her behalf. Ron will get over it, just give him some time. The two of you are best friends. He won't be able to stay angry for too long."

He was silent for a moment, laying his fork against his plate. "Yeah, 'Mione, I know you mean well, but Ron has been a massive prat since you dumped him."

"He'll get over that too. It's just me," she waved a hand. "I suspect we'll wage war on each other for the first few weeks of term, but by Halloween, we will have found a tentative truce."

Harry cleared his throat, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jumper. "Ron never said why the two of you broke up."

She arched an eyebrow. "Surprising. I thought he would have shouted it at whoever would listen." Hermione grimaced. "Good God, that sounded terrible. What I should say is that I think his pride took a large hit, and I expected him to lash out."

"Since he has the emotional range of a teaspoon."

Hermione choked on her food, laughing, and spewing her bite of food across the table. Vanishing it through her own laughter, she shook her head. "Well, yes, but he's not a terrible person. We're ill-matched. He'll accept that."

"Well," Harry said dryly. "Ron hasn't accepted shite yet."

"You've grown quite the cursing habit since I left."

He snorted.

* * *

Harry woke far beyond the sun broke against the horizon. Dr Smith had asked about it once or twice, presumably looking for a way to ask about his nightmares.

He hadn't had a proper night's sleep in over a year. Groggily rubbing his eyes and propping himself up in his bed, Harry reached for his wand. Casting the quick charm, he saw that he'd slept later than his usual, until 8:30 in the morning. No sooner than he'd realised it, footsteps sounded in the corridor, rushing toward his bedroom.

The semi-solid door slammed open, creaking as it gave way with a shudder, and detached from the hinges. "Oh, bollocks!" Hermione panted, the bottom of her palm slapping against her forehead. "I'll fix that, Harry."

He sniggered, brushing the hair from his forehead. "Don't worry about it. I was wondering when it would fall apart."

She nodded. "Well, the entire house will probably fall apart. One would have believed Kreacher would have taken better care of it."

"Maybe he wanted Sirius to hate every moment he spent here," Harry mumbled, shifting in the bed and making room for her. He patted the open space. "Come on. You're here to tell me something, aren't you?"

She chewed her pale pink bottom lip, the blood rushing to it. "On second thought, I can wait to tell you at breakfast. You were probably still sleeping before I shoved your door off the hinges and—"

Harry rolled his eyes, twirling his wand through the gaps between his fingers. "I wasn't sleeping."

"You weren't? You always take advantage of a lie-in." Her nose wrinkled when she said it, confusion etched into her features. "Harry?"

"I can't sleep, Hermione." Which usually he really couldn't. "Get in this bed before I A _ccio_ you myself."

Her eyebrows shot up as she laughed quietly. Clutching the letter in her hand, she padded across the floor, crawling into the middle of the bed. Hermione crossed her legs, handing a parcel to him. "This one is yours, and I didn't snoop, I swear! But I really think you should open it now."

"Our Hogwarts letters?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Open yours first," Harry said. "I want to see if they made you Head Girl."

Hermione froze, her fingers ceasing their carefree tapping against the blankets. "I'm not sure I want to be Head Girl, Harry. This isn't my year. It feels as if I'm robbing a _true_ seventh year of their chance."

Didn't that sound just like Hermione? Harry swore under his breath, reaching out to settle his hand on her arm. "Don't think about it like that. If anyone deserves the title, it's you. You worked for it all this time."

She shrugged, tearing the letter open without the care she'd always used in former years. The enamel pin slid out of the letter, bouncing against her knee before it landed on the blanket. _One, two, three_ seconds ticked by before Hermione made a move. "I should owl Headmistress McGonagall. I can't accept this." Hermione shook her head, moving just so, but Harry had already caught sight of her eyes watering.

Without another word, Harry ripped his letter open. She wasn't likely to listen to him right now if he started with how she was wrong, so he would give her time, and in the meantime, he'd find a way to prevent her from sending an owl to Hogwarts.

"What the fuck?" Harry growled, the harshness of his voice causing the woman in front of him to twitch. In his hand was the companion piece to her Head Girl badge. Decorated in a scarlet and gold finish, the title stamped into the front of it, and his name was inscribed on the back of it. "This must be a mistake."

She laughed, the sound light, and carefree. "Seriously? Who else would they make Head Boy? You were vital in the war, and you killed Voldemort. It makes sense, Harry."

He was still shaking his head. The pin felt heavy in his hand, heavier than the metaphorical bricks that had been crushing his chest since the summer began. "Oh, I don't know," he spat. "What about fucking Neville Longbottom? He's just as fit to be Head Boy as I am! He killed the bloody snake."

Hermione lunged forward, toppling over him in a bout of clumsiness as she slapped her hand over his mouth. "Harry," she whispered. "You should calm down. If you're this displeased with it, we'll just draft refusals for Headmistress McGonagall at the same time."

Harry let his head fall to the pillows as he stared at the ceiling. Holding his pin up in his hand, he sighed. He wanted _her_ to take the position and agreeing to take it himself would be the best way. Besides, if he were with Hermione, it wouldn't be so bad. "How about I accept, if you accept? We would make a good team."

He counted himself lucky when she didn't say no.

* * *

They put off making a trip to Diagon Alley until the last day of August. Harry had brought it to her attention that there may be slim pickings by the time they went, but she'd merely shaken her head and returned to whatever book she'd been buried in at the time.

She knew that he meant well, but she also knew that the Weasleys were most likely to visit the shops at the first opportunity and Hermione would rather not come across Ron in the middle of the cobblestoned streets.

Harry had asked about Ron and their subsequent break up a few times. Each time Hermione pretended to have not heard the question at all, and they would slide into an easy, although semi-awkward silence. It was childish to avoid the topic so much, given that they would be in Hogwarts soon, and everything would come out.

Hermione had nothing to be ashamed of. She'd been bright enough to recognise the beginning of a bad relationship, and she'd just let go. It was as simple as snapping her fingers. However, Harry and Ron would eventually make up and find their way back to being friends. It wouldn't be right for her to say anything that might hinder that.

In the middle of the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley, the hurried crowds, and the last minute orders of various mothers, Hermione held a piece of parchment right in front of her face. "Okay, we've gotten our cauldrons, our scales…"

"We needed scales?" Harry piped up.

Her eyes snapped to his, and she glared up at him. "Harry," she stressed, thoroughly exasperated.

He burst into laughter, drawing attention from the passersby that already stared. Harry slid his fingers through his tousled brown hair, grinning ear to ear. "You should have seen your face!"

Try as she might, Hermione couldn't prevent the smile from curving her lips. "You're an absolute menace, Harry Potter."

He put his hands up in mock surrender. "I have my scales." He admitted.

Her lips had just parted to give a reply when a familiar, furious voice cut through the low roar of the crowd. "Hermione?"

Harry's smile fell. "We can Apparate out if you like," he whispered, slipping his arm through hers.

Hermione pulled away, shaking her head before he could attempt Side Along Apparition. She turned on her heel, her stomach twisting something fierce, and faced Ron. "Hello, " she greeted politely. "Hi, Ginny. How are you?"

Ron stepped forward, a flush creeping up his neck, and Hermione instinctively took a step back. His brow furrowed. "Are you... Are you scared of me?"

"Not in the least, but I'd like you not to get so close. I think we already discussed that once this summer."

Ron huffed. "You're still mad about that?"

Hermione shrugged. "I like my personal space, Ronald."

Ron looked at Harry. "You knew that she was here?" he accused.

Harry nodded after looking from Hermione to Ron and back to her once more. Ginny still hadn't breathed a word. "Sorry, mate." He offered, but Harry lacked any genuine regret. "She's been staying with me."

"What?" Ron snapped.

"She told me she didn't want anyone to know. It wasn't my place to say anything." Harry interjected, reaching out to slide a finger through the belt loop on the back of Hermione's jeans. He tugged her backwards with just enough force, and Harry's stomach sank as Ginny followed the motion.

The witch in question cleared her throat. "I apologise. It's just that I didn't think you would be up to a civil conversation." Hermione murmured, raising her chin. She didn't shy away from the glare Ron gave.

"So you already wrote me off," he sneered.

Ginny pulled on her brother's ear, snapping, "Diagon Alley isn't the place for this. You're not entitled to Hermione's comings and goings." It was the first reasonable thing to be said.

Unfortunately, Ron didn't see it that way. "The hell I don't. She's my—"

"—Nothing," Hermione said smoothly. "Ginny's right. I shouldn't have written you off, but to be honest, Ron," she sighed, "I didn't want to see you. I still don't."

There was a flash around them, and Harry noticed the photographer first. Gritting his teeth as the man sprinted away, he muttered, " _Levicorpus."_

The stocky man was ripped into the air by his ankle, the fake piece of hair adorning the top of his head falling to the ground because of a sticking charm that hadn't, well, _stuck._ The camera crashed to the cobblestone, fracturing right down the middle.

For good measure, Harry lit the camera on fire, destroying the magical photographs inside.

Hermione was kinder to the man, moving quickly to let him down while casting a sharp look to Harry. "You realise that everyone saw that, didn't you?" she hissed.

* * *

She let out a harsh breath as the world twisted around them. They were deposited onto the flood of Grimmauld Place, and she gave him a harsh glare. "What was that?"

Harry stepped around her or tried to, anyway. "It was nothing."

Hermione caught him, lightly gripping his elbow. "Harry... that wasn't nothing. Not even close."

His eyes narrowed, and she let go of him, her cheeks flooding with heat. "I don't like the way they're constantly taking pictures of us."

That was agreeable, Hermione thought, since she hated it too, but it wasn't an explanation. "Harry—" She began, hurrying up the stairs after him, but the click of his door only left her frustrated.

Fine, she would find a way to talk about it later then.


	3. Chapter 3

Late that afternoon, Hermione sat at the kitchen table as she looked over the list of duties she and Harry would have for the following year. There was a tapping on the window, and she looked up to see Pigwidgeon hovering in place, looking bored as he tapped his beak against the glass pane again.

She slowly slid out from the table, taking care to not knock the book Harry had slid under the wobbliest leg. Not that she agreed with using a _book_ to prop it up, but it was a book that detailed how Muggleborns were the lesser type, so she let it slide. Hermione lifted the window, letting him swoop into the kitchen.

Pig landed on the countertop, holding his leg out for Hermione to take the missive. "Is this for me?" Hermione asked, untying it from his slender leg. "I think Harry may still have some treats here. Wait just a moment."

Eager for treats, Pig did exactly that. He looked around the kitchen while she dug through the cupboards, finally pulling down a container that had been under a stasis charm. She assumed it had been that way since the last time Harry had been there before the war before Hedwig was killed.

"Here you are," Hermione slid him three treats before leaning against the counter. She unfurled the parchment, her lips parted in surprise when she recognised Molly's handwriting.

She expected for there to be some backhanded insult in the letter, at least where the woman's youngest son was concerned, but she was pleased to see that wasn't the case.

_Hermione_

_I heard about the scene in Diagon Alley. I'm terribly sorry about that. Now I won't bore you with the details, but Ron's behaviour hasn't been the best since returning home. I'm sure that you know all about that._

_While I'm disheartened to hear that the two of you didn't work out—and while I still wish that you might—I would still love to see you. Ginny told me you've been staying with Harry, so I know that I've already been feeding you. Shouldn't I get to see you as well?_

_I would have earlier, but I was caught up in an awful conversation with Rita Skeeter. I suspect it won't be long before I'm in one of her headlines. Ha! Can you imagine?_

_I know that this letter must surprise you, and I only have myself to blame for that. I was not kind to you in the past, and that's no way for a woman to act. I still think of you as part of my family. In these times, family is more important than ever, don't you agree?_

_If you feel up to it, I would love to have you for dinner tonight. Bring Harry if you do. If you decide it's too much, know that I will understand, but please send me a letter to tell me. Otherwise, I'll set your place._

_Love, Molly._

Hermione laid the letter against the countertop. Pig had crammed his head into the jar of treats, effectively getting his head stuck. "Pig!" she giggled.

After he was free, and only after shooting the dirtiest look she'd ever seen on an owl, he flew out the window. He hadn't waited for a reply, so Hermione supposed that her decision was made. She climbed the stairs slowly, her hand sliding against the railing. It was a mistake to do so, considering it splintered in some areas.

She'd told Harry they should fix it up, but he brushed her off, claiming that they would be gone for a year soon, anyway.

She found Harry in his bedroom, hunched over a quidditch magazine. "What is it?" he asked.

Hermione leaned against the door frame, folding her arms across her chest. "We have plans for tonight now."

"We do?"

She nodded. "Molly just sent me a letter. I'd like to go to dinner tonight at the Burrow. Come with me."

His eyes widened. "I'm not sure that's..."

"Please? I'm not asking you to take sides, but I would like to see everyone else, and I know Ron isn't as likely to do anything if you're a buffer."

"Ron won't do anything because Molly will have his head." Harry pointed out. "I'll come. It's not as if I have anything else to do."

She smiled. "Great. I'll see you in a few hours."

* * *

Dinner was dinner, and that was all there was to say about it. Ron hadn't been thrilled to see her, but he'd kept his opinions to himself as they sat on opposite sides of the table. After dinner, neither Hermione nor Harry saw the Weasleys until they were due to arrive at Kings Cross.

Hermione and Harry boarded the train long before it was due to leave, and they stashed their luggage in the compartment they'd always used. It differed from all the years before.

She'd expected it to be, but there was _knowing_ how hurt the world was after the war, and then there was _seeing_ the devastation. First years crowded the train corridors, anxiously looking each way in fear.

Harry sighed beside her, pushing ahead and coming to stand in front of them. "Are you lost?" he asked quietly. Out of habit, he ran fingers through his hair, and it revealed the telltale scar on his forehead.

"You're Harry Potter!" a little blonde girl shouted.

Hermione couldn't see his face as she stood behind him, but she imagined that he was grimacing at the loud outburst. "Yeah, I am. Can I help you find a train compartment?"

The entire group stared at their feet. "Well," the brunet boy began quietly, "We heard that last year there were Death Eaters on the train, and Jane is Muggleborn." He motioned to a girl who was much smaller than the rest, and she was trembling.

Hermione wanted to wrap her into a tight hug, but she held back.

Harry nodded. "I see. 'Mione is a Muggleborn too, so was my mum. 'Mione's a war hero."

Their stares shifted to her, and she gave a wave. Her cheeks had heated up, red spreading across her skin. "There's nothing to be afraid of. They've even put Aurors on the train, just in case." Which they had. It'd been all over the Prophet that they worried there might be an attack from the Death Eaters that were still missing. "Why don't you stay in our compartment? We're not likely to use it for a while."

Harry looked back at her, mouthing, "What?"

She took two steps forward. "I'll ward the door for you. How about that?" Each of them eagerly nodded as she ushered them inside. "In you go. Now you can open the door, and you'll be fine. It will just protect you from the wrong sort of people, should anything happen."

After shutting the door, she found that Harry was smirking. "You're not warding that door at all," he whispered.

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not. Any Auror, or student worth their salt would know immediately. One of the Aurors is patrolling this corridor every five minutes. I saw him already."

Harry slung an arm around her shoulders. "You're so sweet, 'Mione."

She flushed, ducking out from under his grip as they made their way down the corridor. "Shut up," she muttered. "We need a new compartment."

* * *

The welcoming feast was like any other, just with some added bits and bobbles. They were still told to avoid the Forbidden Forest, unless they wanted to face a grisly death, or unless they had detention. Students whispered about the logic of that one.

Headmistress McGonagall stared over the crowd with a tight expression, her hair hidden by her hat as she welcomed everyone back. The Sorting carried on as it always had, with only a few surprises. Out of all the tables, the Slytherin table was the house with the least amount of students.

The boy that had been with Jane, that had worried about her wellbeing, was sorted into Slytherin. Jane burst into tears, her eyes wide with fear from even where Hermione sat, and the boy, Thomas, had not wanted to join his house. By the time he did, the Great Hall was silent and watching as Draco Malfoy patted the seat beside him.

Hermione nodded to the man, taking in his features that were more sunken in than ever, and she wondered, absently as she would never act on her curiosity, how he was.

The Head Boy and Head Girl led wayward students to their dorms, and Hermione stumbled upon a sight she couldn't tear her eyes away from. She pressed herself against the wall, peeking around the corner.

Harry and Draco were standing there in front of Thomas and Jane. Thomas' hand was interwoven with Janes, merely a show of friendship, but there was a fierce look in his eyes that made it clear: he had no intention of making his way to the dungeons.

"I don't _want_ to be a Slytherin!" Thomas snapped. "I don't want to be an evil git, and hate Muggleborns."

Malfoy dragged a hand down his face. "So don't hate Muggleborns. It's really not as difficult as you're making it out to be."

"Says you! You let Death Eaters into Hogwarts."

Hermione sucked in a breath, unsure of what would happen next. In the past, Malfoy had a temper, and she couldn't see how he would react kindly to being reminded of past mistakes and failures.

"I did, and I'll regret that for the rest of my life," Malfoy said evenly, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. "I'm not saying I'm _not_ an evil git as you so eloquently put it, but here's the thing, we all bleed the same." His eyes flicked to the corner she hid behind, and bile rose in her throat.

Clearly, she was not the only one who had forgotten about Malfoy Manor.

"So," Malfoy continued, "why don't you be a different kind of Slytherin?"

Thomas looked at Jane and then to Harry. "Is that possible?"

Malfoy muttered something about his sound advice being ignored for Saint Potter.

Harry shrugged. "The Sorting Hat wanted to place me in Slytherin, and my best friend is a Muggleborn. I don't see why you couldn't do the same."

The two first years exchanged an uneasy look. "I've known Jane since I was a child. My mom is a muggle, and we lived near each other… I don't want—"

"Like Malfoy said, then don't. Being in Slytherin doesn't take all of your choices away. Some of them aren't great, but you can be different."

Thomas hung his head, allowing Malfoy to lead him to the dungeons.

"I know my way to the Hufflepuff dormitories," Jane said with a smile, turning away from Harry and hurrying down the hall as he called out for to not miss curfew.

Hermione slid out of her hiding place, a wide grin on her face. "Look at you promoting inter-house unity."

Harry flushed, and walked past her quickly. Each step of his rivaled two of hers, and Hermione had to nearly run to keep up. "Thomas was scared it would make him evil. It doesn't mean I've forgiven any other Slytherins."

They came to the door of their shared quarters, and Hermione lifted her wand, whispering, "Quaffle." Clearly, their headmistress had kept Harry in mind when creating their first password of the year. "What is that?"

There was a soft meow coming from inside the room. The common room was decorated in neutral colours, as was the normal practice since it was so often opposing houses. There were two sofas, with two large leather recliners as well. Hermione looked to the back of the room, noting the small kitchenette that was sure to come in handy during her late night study sessions.

Harry gripped her shoulders as he stood behind her, steering her toward the fireplace. There, on a little cushion, laid an orange kitten. "I know Crooks is staying with your parents, and that you miss him, so…" he trailed off.

Hermione crept forward slowly so as not to scare the sleeping animal. She crouched beside him, stroking the top of his head with just two fingers. "Oh, Harry," she whispered, her eyes beginning to water.

"Did I overstep? If so, there's a return policy—"

"No!" Hermione said loudly, jarring the kitten awake. "You can't return him, or her?"

"Him," Harry nodded. "He doesn't have a name yet. I thought you would want to name him."

"Whenever did you have time to pick this little guy up?" Hermione asked. She smiled as the kitten crawled into her lap, curling up against her black robes.

Harry scratched the back of his head. "I just ducked out in the middle of the afternoon, a few days ago. I had him sent here so I could surprise you. Also, I worried about what he might be able to get into in Grimmauld. There are still several rooms that I haven't opened."

"He's lovely." Hermione said. She smoothed her palm down the kitten's back, listening to the beginnings of his purrs.

"What will you name him?"

She tapped a finger against her lips. She didn't want the name to be anything close to Crookshanks. No, that would remind her of her previous familiar, whom she still missed terribly, but her mother had quite the attachment to the half Kneazle. "Ollie." she settled on, liking the sound of it. "What do you think?"

"Ollie." he agreed.

* * *

Harry had tossed and turned until midnight before he'd fallen into a not so restful sleep. There were flashes of different things: the war, the Chamber of Secrets, the Basilisk, and dying in the Forbidden Forest. He seemed to always dream about everything in a not so chronological loop though. It was after staring down the wand of Lord Voldemort, and watching the green jet of magic rush toward him, that he found himself in Malfoy Manor.

Rather, he found himself in the dungeons. Hermione was being tortured, to what extent he didn't know. But he could hear the screams bubbling up on her lips, the agony being the likes of something he'd never heard before. She was pleading with a mad witch to stop, and Harry was straining against the bars of the magical dungeons.

She could die up there, under the wand of a Death Eater who would string her up by her ankles to watch her bleed out just for being a Muggleborn. He needed to get out.

_Needed to get out._

_Needed to get to Hermione, who had always been—_

"Harry!" came the frenzied shout, followed by his body thrashing.

He thought she was calling out for him in the nightmare, and that he was just beginning to shake when he couldn't get free. "Hermione," he panted. "I'm trying. I'm coming to sa—"

"Harry, you've got to wake up!"

He opened his eyes to find Hermione leaning over him, awkwardly straddling his waist as she held his hands over his head. Her face was streaked with tears, and if he could have, Harry would have reached up to wipe them away. "Hermione?"

"Thank Merlin," she choked. "You weren't waking up, and when I first tried, you hit me." Hermione pulled away from him, kneeling beside him on the bed. "Are you okay?"

Sure enough, to his horror, there was an angry red mark in the shape of his hand across her creamy cheek. "Am I okay?" Hary echoed, scrambling to sit up. He cradled her face in his hands, his eyes wide. He could see the mark even without his glasses. "Are _you_ okay?"

She nodded. "Perfectly fine. It's nothing a little bit of bruise paste won't help. Harry, you were dreaming, weren't you?" Hermione asked.

"Nevermind that." he snapped. "Fuck, I hit you so hard." He murmured, disgusted with himself.

"I'm fine. Worse has happened to me." Hermione tried to make light of it, as if it were all a joke, and his hands tightened into fists at his sides.

Merlin, he'd probably struck Hermione so roughly that her teeth gnashed together. "I did this," he whispered. His finger slid slightly over the swollen cheek, and he shook his head. "I'm so sorry."

Hermione shook her head. "It's okay. I'm not upset."

"I am."

"Harry…"

"I'll put up a silencing charm every night from now on. Don't come in here again." Harry said. "Go back."

"No," she snapped. Pulling the blankets back, Hermione slid under them and laid across the bed from him. "I don't think you should be alone, and I definitely don't think you want to be alone."

"You can't sleep here!" Harry whispered. "It's improper," he said lamely.

She snorted. "I think we're passed the line of improper. We shared a tent for a year, Harry. Go to sleep. I'll be here."

Well, she never had really left him much choice.


	4. Chapter 4

A month passed, and Hermione had found herself crawling into bed with Harry every night. They didn't speak much about it unless Harry was arguing that it wasn't safe for her. He hadn't forgiven himself for walloping her as he had, despite her continued attempts to reassure him.

With a visit to Madam Pomfrey the next day, she was right as rain. Only a few students had seen the angry bruise forming on her cheek that morning. Unfortunately, one of them had been Ron. Hermione was not a good liar, and telling Ron that she'd just slipped on the stairs, smashing her cheek against the stone steps, hadn't made it any easier to get along.

He thought she was a liar, which was fair since she _was_ lying.

To her knowledge, Harry and Ron had yet to have a full conversation with the other. They could not avoid each other given that Harry had accepted the position as Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, and Ron wasn't avoiding his favourite pastime because of Harry.

Hermione tried to make her way down to the pitch for each practice. Maybe their small group was fractured, but she still wanted to support her closest friends.

On a Thursday in October, just before Halloween, Hermione sat in the stands while the Gryffindor team zoomed around the pitch. She looked down at her Potions text, tucking her wand into the lazy top knot on the top of her head.

Neville day to her right, bouncing his knee as Hannah Abbott leaned into his side. "Hermione, have you finished the essay for Potions?"

She bobbed her head, her bun falling haphazardly. "Yes. I'd like to mention how irritating it is to write three feet of parchment over Wolfsbane? Not that I'm not thrilled for it to be into the curriculum, but there's only a handful of books relating to it in the library! I had to manhandle it away from a Ravenclaw who thought he could keep it for an extra week."

Neville sniggered. "I heard all about your tiff with Michael Corner. Anyway, that's why I'm asking you about it. Malfoy has it for another two days at least, and I was hoping you made notes of your findings."

Hermione looked up at him. "I did one even better than that. I made a copy of the entire bloody book since Madam Pince won't listen to me when I say we need more books."

Hannah's laugh was abruptly cut short as she shouted, "Hermione, watch out!"

She didn't have time to look up before a stray bludger met her stomach, and her fingers when she tried to block the blow, causing her to slam against the row of seats behind her. Hermione gasped, hot tears springing to her eyes as she pushed the offending object away. "My fingers are broken." She muttered, teary-eyed. "Can you help me to the hospital wing?"

Neville nodded, standing quickly. "If you're in too much pain to walk, I can always carry you."

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's okay. I can walk."

Ron shouted her name, dropping his broom as he rushed toward her. "Fuck, I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

Tears slipped down her cheeks without permission, but she nodded. "Just a few broken bones; nothing Madam Pomfrey can't fix. Don't worry about it."

Harry was just behind him, his hair dishevelled by the wind, and he looked _furious_. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were dark as they fell on her and Ron. "Your fingers?" He asked, his tone clipped as he motioned toward her hand.

"Broken," Hermione replied. "It was an accident. It's okay, it could happen to anyone." She held her hand in the other, grimacing in pain as her hand began to throb. "Neville and Hannah will take me to the hospital wing. I'll see the two of you after practice?"

She'd hoped it could be a stepping stone to getting back to normal.

* * *

She was wrong. It was not going to just go back to normal, and she blamed Harry mostly when she heard about what happened.

Madam Pomfrey has fretted over her, but she'd fixed her up relatively quickly. Hermione had only been in the hospital wing for half an hour before she was on her way. She collected the copy of the book she'd created for Neville, and it was in the Gryffindor Common Room that she heard about it.

The younger years were calling it the greatest row this side of the century. Someone called it an uncharacteristically violent outburst. It wasn't until she overheard, "I don't know what Weasley was thinking. Harry killed the darkest wizard since Grindelwald!"

Hermione froze, partway through a game of exploding snap with Neville and Dean. She looked to the crowd of fourth years, one eyebrow arched. "What are you talking about over there?"

Every single one of clammed up.

"Oh, stop. I won't dock points just because you're talking about something. What happened between Ron and Harry?"

"Well," Lucas began. "The entire school heard how you got hit with that bludger during practice. I heard from Lisa, who heard from Ginny, who broke up the fight herself. I guess Harry accused Ron of hitting you on purpose so he could swoop in to help you."

Hermione saw red. "That's preposterous!"

Lucas shrugged. "Ginny said she tried to calm them down, but Ron wasn't helping matters. Ron said he didn't need to hurt you for you to come crawling back, and that you would do that on your own soon."

Okay, that quenched her desire to defend Ron as much.

"And then Harry hexed the shite out of him. So they were fighting each other on the pitch. Ginny is a right monster with a Bat Bogey hex, and they both had to visit the hospital wing, considering Potter started hitting him."

"Yeah," Marcus interjected. "Harry resorted to muggle techniques and Ron didn't know what to do." He laughed.

Hermione frowned. "It's not nice to laugh at Ron. Harry shouldn't have done that."

Lucas said, "He was defending you. Ron said some nasty things."

She didn't care.

That wasn't right. She was angry at Ron. How dare he say she would come crawling back to him.

Hermione rose from her seat, storming through the corridors, still unsure who she was actually angry at.

She would probably figure it out once she found them, probably.

* * *

Headmistress McGonagall stared down her nose at them as she sat, perched on the large chair behind her desk. Heaving a sigh, and shaking her head, Harry felt worse for disappointing the witch than he did for assaulting Ron.

"What were you thinking, Mr Potter?" She asked. She tightly laced her fingers together, leaving the impression that it wasn't a rhetorical question. "Both of you are role models for several students in this school, don't you realize that?"

Ron scoffed. "As if. All they care about is how Voldemort is dead and we can all thank Harry for it. It's why he's Head Boy."

"I didn't even _want—_ " Harry began, but the witch before them snapped her fingers. "Headmistress McGonagall, I let my temper get the best of me. I shouldn't have."

His arms still folded across his chest, Ron leaned back in his chair as he snapped, "Where exactly do you get off thinking I want to hurt Hermione, anyway? I'm trying to get her to give me a second chance!"

Harry shot back, "She will not give you another chance. She's given you plenty and you've ruined every one!"

"Enough!" she barked. "Each if you are to serve one detention with Filch. Mr Potter, you may attend on Wednesday night. Mr Weasley, you may attend on Thursday."

"I haven't done anything! I only defended myself," Ron whined. "I'll miss quidditch practice."

Their headmistress was not inclined to care. "If you'd rather, I'll make both of you miss the first match of the season."

No one, including her, wanted that.

"You may return to Gryffindor Tower, Mr Weasley. Potter, stay behind. We need to have a chat." She waited until the door shut, the magical locks snapping into place. "Dr Smith warned me at the beginning of the term you were still working on your temper."

Harry shifted in his seat, not meeting her eyes. "I lashed out, and it was wrong. Should I turn in my Head Boy badge?"

She shook her head. "That won't be necessary. However, I've arranged for you to have an extra session tomorrow before practice. You don't need to discuss it with me, but it's my opinion that it will do you good."

She was right. Harry had no intentions of discussing anything with her. It would be bad enough to discuss the day's events with Dr Smith. He really hadn't stopped to think of what would happen when he saw the Head Girl next.

* * *

Harry had barely entered the dorm when he ran a hand down his face tiredly, letting his bag fall to the floor at his feet. "Hermione?" Harry called.

She sat on the couch, wearing dark joggers and an old sweater. "Harry," she greeted sourly. "Can we talk?"

As she patted the spot beside her, he found that he didn't want to do that at all. "I'm guessing you heard about Ron and me."

It was a knee jerk reaction when she said, "Ron and I."

Harry sat beside her, though he put as much space between them as he could. He wasn't entirely convinced that she wouldn't hex him, and his ex-girlfriend had already done a fine job of that. "I overreacted."

Hermione was quiet for several moments before she exhaled. "Why would you have any reason to believe that Ron would hurt me on purpose?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek, swallowing hard. "I just jumped to the worst conclusion possible. The two of you can barely stand to look at each other, and I just thought…"

She snorted. "I don't think you were thinking at all."

Harry's eyes narrowed at that. "How would I know what the fuck to think when you've never even told me why the two of you broke up in the first place?"

Hermione didn't back down from his angry tone, or the way his eyes flashed. In fact, maybe she thrived on it, considering she seemed to come to life in a single breath. "Ron and I broke up because I couldn't give him wanted. Don't let your mind stray, Harry. It had nothing to do with sex."

"I didn't say..."

"It's written all over your face. Ron has always needed attention, and there's nothing wrong with that. Following the war, and losing Fred, he needed more attention than ever before. I wasn't able to give him the attention he craved while spending so much time with my parents. He made a careless comment about how I had already spent enough time with them, and I ought to give him a turn."

Harry sat ramrod straight, not moving as she spoke evenly. "He came back a week into summer," he breathed. "He said that when it had only been a week?"

"Don't think of him as the villain." she urged quietly. "I don't. I just knew that we would never work and holding on would only hurt us."

"It was a careless thing to say."

She nodded. "He cares, despite having a skewed way of showing it, you know? You should apologize to him for today."

"He's been a prick."

"Yes, well, we're all guilty of that from time to time. After cursing him I would say that you've been a right bastard today. Go apologize to him."

Later that night, Hermione didn't ask if he had done as she said when she crawled into bed beside him. He slung an arm around her waist, the crook of his elbow pressed flush against her hip.

He definitely didn't think about how he was supposed to ask her about post-traumatic stress disorder as he moved her hair so he wouldn't suffocate in his sleep.

* * *

Dr Smith didn't offer him a sweet as he took his seat that day. Unlike all the other sessions, he wasn't smiling, and Harry was instantly on edge. "You attacked your friend."

Harry inhaled and exhaled before he even considered opening his mouth. He nodded. "Yeah, I did."

"Why is that?"

"Hermione was on the pitch with us, and a bludger hit her. Ron was the one who caused it, and it broke her fingers. I accused him of doing it on purpose because she dumped him."

"Why would he attack her, Harry?"

He didn't know. He felt another wave of shame washing over him. It had made sense at the moment yesterday that, Ron would hurt Hermione. Now it only felt like his mind had played a cruel prank on him. Right then, he did not understand why he'd believed Ron would do anything of the sort. "I don't know."

Dr Smith nodded. Today his portfolio was discarded, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His tie hung down, his suit jacket hanging over the back of his chair. "Did you talk to Hermione about what I told you?"

Harry shook his head. "I didn't. I don't know what that has to do with this though."

"Paranoia can go hand in hand with PTSD. You've been growing closer to Hermione, haven't you? I heard how your fellow Heads. You're probably worried about protecting her, and knowing that Ron, theoretically, hurt her, you wanted to protect her."

"My reaction was normal then?"

Dr Smith nodded. "As normal as it could be under the circumstances. It's obviously not what anyone would prefer, but yes, there is a solid reason for your lashing out."

Harry slumped against the back of the sofa. "Hermione told me I should apologise to him, but I couldn't bring myself to go find him." A long pause followed. "I'll probably apologise to him now, now that I'm in the right state of mind."

"Good to hear," Dr Smith said. "Harry, there are some potions I will write for you. Take them to Madam Pomfrey the first chance you get and have that talk with Hermione. I'm afraid that I have a session coming in soon, and this is all the time we'll have today."

* * *

By the time they had a Hogsmeade trip, Harry had apologised to Ron, and Gryffindor had won their first match against Hufflepuff. What Harry would have liked to do was throw himself into a booth in the Three Broomsticks, and drink a Butterbeer, but he had patrols to do.

Mostly, there were no problems beyond a case where Hermione found two fifth-year students furiously snogging in an alley, and she was certain that clothing was about to be optional between the two.

She'd joined Harry and Ron in their tentative peace before being pulled aside by Michael Corner. Harry tilted his head to the side at the sight.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Ron said.

Harry looked at him. "If you're about to ask me if he's asking her on a date, save your breath. I have no idea." Though he was still watching, interested to see if that would be the case.

Ron shook his head. "No, that's not it. I know that you said you only see her as a sister, but it's just, well—"

His eyes widened as he realised just what Ron was trying to say. "I don't have time for this right now." Harry quickly said as he heard Hermione snapping a group of third years. As it became clear that Ron wasn't letting go of the conversation, Harry stood and made his way to Hermione and the third years.

Later that night, Hermione asked to borrow his quidditch shirt, and he turned so she could pull her top over her head. His top reached her mid-thigh, and he knew that she was wearing shorts beneath it, but it did nothing to help where his mind was straying.

As she climbed into the bed, utterly comfortable in the curve of him, Ollie curled up at their feet.

And Harry knew that there was a very different reason for why he preferred their new sleeping habits since the beginning of term.

He hoped that she wouldn't figure it out before he knew what to do.


	5. Chapter 5

When Harry stepped into the familiar office, softly closing the door behind him as he did so, he was greeted by the question he'd been dreading. "Have you talked to her about what I told you?" Dr Smith asked.

Harry hadn't, but he'd done a bit of research on his own. From what he learned, which he admitted was little given that he'd only ordered one book, Harry didn't want the inevitable shame that would come with telling Hermione. "No." Harry shook his head, slowly taking a seat. "But I read about it myself."

Dr Smith's pen scratched across the piece of paper. "I see. I thought that might happen."

"I didn't want to ask her when I knew nothing about it. 'Mione would be delighted to teach me all about whatever this is, but… I don't want her to know."

The man opposite him sighed and clicked his pen. "I may not know Miss Granger personally, but I think it's easy to say she would be nothing but understanding."

Harry knew that. She was always at his side, no matter the time, and his nightmares had reduced drastically since the beginning of the term. He could imagine how much Hermione could help with everything else. "She treats me like I'm still just Harry, and not a hero. I like that."

Dr Smith arched an eyebrow, tapping his fingers against the clipboard. "Who's saying she wouldn't still treat you that way? You're giving her little credit."

He flushed under the rebuttal, and Harry shook his head. His hair fell into his eyes, and he gripped the edge of the couch. "She'd realise that I'm not as strong as everyone thinks. I don't want her to know that I'm—" He cut himself off, unsure of what word to use.

Broken? He didn't always feel broken, not in the least.

"I don't have as many nightmares anymore though." Harry thought it might be a consolation. "I haven't lost my temper since you and Madam Pomfrey started me on those potions."

"Perfect," the doctor smiled. "Have the nightmares stopped because of the potions, or is that unrelated?"

"It was Hermione's doing," Harry admitted, not making eye contact. "During our first night of term, she heard me yelling. I hurt her when she tried to shake me." He shook his head. "After she calmed me down, Hermione refused to leave. She slept with me that night and has every night since."

His therapist appeared to be almost giddy with the news. "I see." He set his clipboard on the desk and pulled a drawer out. "I want you to do something, Harry. It involves only you, and no one else will be involved." Dr Smith produced a pensieve from the lowest drawer of his desk, and he set it on top of a stack of papers.

"A pensieve?"

"Yes, a pensieve. I believe it would be beneficial for you to extract several of your memories, your worst ones, and the ones you don't want to always think of, and insert them into this."

"Right now?" Harry's fingers slid through his hair, and he gnawed his bottom lip. "It's mine though? I'll take it with me?"

"Of course."

* * *

Hermione looked around their common room, biting her lower lip and tapping her quill impatiently against the foot of parchment. Harry was hardly ever late, and she knew his schedule as surely as she knew her own. There hadn't been quidditch practice today, and he hadn't received any more detentions, so why was he a half-hour late? Oblivious as her best friend might be on the occasion, but he was never late for their meetings.

Maybe he was late to the meetings that involved the prefects, and sometimes he was late for rounds, but _still._

The portrait slammed open as it neared forty-five minutes, and Harry bustled inside, a pensieve clutched in his grip. She tilted her head to the side, watching curiously as he went straight to his bedroom and took several minutes to come out.

He'd removed his shoes and his robes, now wearing a crimson jumper as he jumped over the back of the couch. He mistakenly kicked a bottle of ink and rushed to clean it up before she could say anything at all. "I'm sorry I'm late. I was caught up in the middle of something, and I thought I could make it back before you noticed I was gone."

The words hit home hard and Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. "You've been disappearing more often recently." She said slowly. "I haven't said anything since it's your business, but if it's got you in such a rush, we can reschedule. Or I can even plan the Yule Ball by myself. Michael mentioned he would help, so if you—"

"No!" he shouted.

She blinked. "It's no problem if you're meeting your…" Hermione paused as his eyes widened. _Interesting._ "Girlfriend, I assume?"

He burst into laughter, leaning forward and holding his stomach. "I don't have a girlfriend."

It would make sense if it had been a girl, she thought. "Where were you?"

Harry swallowed roughly, looking away from her. "I haven't told anyone, and if I tell you, I'd really rather it stayed between us." Given the worried look on his face, she thought she'd struck a nerve.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

Harry switched seats, joining her on the other couch and sitting close to her. He crossed his legs as he faced her. "At the beginning of the summer, Molly and McGonagall convinced me to start sessions with a therapist. He's a squib, so he knows about muggle medicine and conditions."

"The beginning of the summer?" Hermione echoed. It had been _that_ long, and she'd never noticed?

He nodded. "Yeah. I hated them at first, still do, but I'm making some progress, mostly with my temper. He says I have something—" Harry slid his fingers through his hair, breaking off mid-sentence. "Hermione, you'll never think less of me, will you?"

"Of course not, Harry. You're my best friend. You've been through so much that I would be more worried if you didn't come out of it with some issues." She reached for his hand, offering a smile and the warmth of her fingers as they slid through the gaps of his. "No matter what, I'll always be on your side."

"What do you know about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

"Plenty. A healer at the wizarding hospital in Australia had heard about it, and she diagnosed me with it."

Harry was silent, no reaction coming from him except from his eyes widening. "You mean, I could have talked to you about this all along?"

She laughed lightly. "You can always talk to me about anything."

"Dr Smith wanted me to discuss it with you weeks ago. I was supposed to talk to you right before I attacked Ron and—" Harry paused, staring at their fingers. "McGonagall arranged an emergency session the day after with Dr Smith, and I started different potions right after that."

"I take daily potions as well." Hermione jumped as his head popped up.

His mouth fell open. "You do? But I've never seen you take them."

"I prefer to look like I have everything together. Seems like neither of us wanted to be open with the other." Hermione leaned against the sofa, twirling the quill in her hand. "So, do you want to talk about it?"

Harry heaved a sigh, tapping his fingers against his leg. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

She smiled. "You're not obligated to tell me everything, but you can tell me _anything_ if you ever want to. Are the sessions helping you?"

"Some sessions are better than others." The fire crackled across from them, and she nodded at his words. "But I've started to get a better handle on my temper, and the potions really have helped. I just, I thought I was going mental, 'Mione."

She laid her head against the cushions. "Like everything was slipping through your fingers, and you weren't the one in control anymore?"

His fingers found hers, and he nodded without a word.

"I know how that feels."

"Is that why you and Ron…"

The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched. "Not really. The two of us weren't going to last, but he still wants to try. I think everyone is handling the end of the war differently." She nibbled her lower lip. "Ron just needed more attention than I could give him. I wanted to be alone, to close in on myself, and he needed someone to be there constantly."

"You've never wanted to get away from me though," Harry stated. Regret was visible on his face seconds after speaking. "That sounded worse than I meant for it to."

Her shoulders fell, and she tucked stray strands of hair behind her ears. "Well, this will sound even worse. I didn't shy away from you because I knew I could lean on you without you expecting something in return. I should have been there for Ron, but I didn't like how he was always touching me. Malfoy Manor fucked me up, Harry," Hermione's voice trailed off as she admitted it, crass language that was unlike her and all.

"When you say he was always touching you—"

"I just mean that he had to be touching me. We had to be holding hands, even when we were at dinner. He would put his hand on my knee, trying to reassure me, but he didn't understand that it caused my panic attacks. After a week, he wanted me to spend more one-on-one time with him, to go on dates, to explore Australia, rather than spend time with my parents."

Harry blinked several times. "But you'd just gotten them back."

She waved her hand irritated just by the memory of that week of summer. "He didn't phrase it badly. Ron just blurted one night that I'd spent every single night with them, and he asked me to make time for him. He needed me, but I wasn't there for him."

"I don't think you should blame yourself."

Her eyes were watery as she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. "Anyway, I regret it. He'd lost Fred, and he needed someone to be there for him. I'm certain I made it worse with my own selfishness. It's such a mess now, I'm not sure I'll ever repair the friendship I broke."

Harry slid closer to her on the sofa, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. He brushed her hair from her face, running his fingers through the wild curls as gently as he could. "Hey," he coaxed, rubbing her back. "You shouldn't beat yourself up over it."

She sniffled. "Oh, Harry, we're supposed to be talking about you, and here I am, crying over—" Hermione hiccuped.

He pressed his lips to her hair as he rubbed her back. "We can both vent, you know. It's not entirely about me, despite me being the Chosen One, but I'll let that slide for you."

It worked. Hermione laughed, coughing as she did. "So kind."

They fell silent, leaning into one another as the fire crackled and burned in front of them. "I know that you feel guilty; it's hard not to. Dr Smith told me something at the beginning of my sessions, but he said that even if I feel guilty for it, I can't sacrifice my own mental health for someone else. You ought to remember that."

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, sliding her hands up his chest and taking advantage of the comfort he offered. "Smart man," Hermione whispered against his throat.

"He gave me a pensieve today. I was late because I chose to put my memories inside of it while still in the office. He thinks it will help me."

Hermione nodded. "What do you think?"

"It's nice to move some of those memories out of the front of my head." His fingers traced her spine. "Some things are impossible to forget."

"Would you want to forget?"

His reply was just as soft. "I don't know. It feels like I'm stomping on the memories of those who died if I do. I couldn't Obliviate myself if I tried. I'd end up as a permanent resident in St Mungos."

She smiled, her lips curving against his throat. "Which would be a tragedy."

Harry chuckled, resting his hand on her hip. "Did you get very far in planning for the ball?"

Hermione yawned. "Already done, but you should look at my notes and see if you have anything to add. We need to give it to Headmistress McGonagall by the end of the week." Tucking her legs beneath her, she curled up into his side. "Anything else you want to talk about?"

"Not right now," He raised his wand, turning off the lights in their common room. "We'll talk later."

Hermione was asleep before he finished his sentence.

* * *

Harry woke long before her. Content to relax on the sofa while she laid on his chest, Harry stared at his best friend in a way he never had before.

Hermione was pretty, and he'd known that since he was old enough to have crushes. Yet somehow he'd always thought of Hermione as Ron's as if she were something to own, so he'd never stopped to realise how pretty her lips were.

His hand raised on its own accord, and slowly, he ran his fingertips against her hair. _Soft._ It surprised him, and he curled a long strand of hair around his finger.

She made a small sound that caused his heartbeat to quicken as she shifted against him. While still sleeping, Hermione curled up against him, her legs already curled beneath her. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her breath fanning across his throat.

Harry swallowed. While it was only an accident that her lips skimmed his neck, he shifted in his seat. Merlin, he hoped she didn't wake up, or she might feel the uncomfortable bulge in his trousers. He let his head fall to the sofa and stared at the ceiling overhead. Just outside the window, the sun revealed it was nearly noon.

They'd had more than just a lie-in, but he couldn't be convinced to untangle himself from Hermione. Careful not to wake her, he traced her arms, his thumb brushing against her wrist.

She sighed.

Since Hermione began climbing into his bed at night, sometimes throwing her arm across his waist and cuddling close, he took the time to take her in.

Her hair was a mess in the mornings. She rolled in her sleep, stealing the sheets and blankets. Hermione was high-strung, constantly keeping busy especially after the war, and this was the only chance he had to see her so relaxed.

Eyes dropping back to her lips, he wanted to run his thumb across her lower lip. Harry might have if the portrait leading into their room hadn't flown open.

Ron stomped into the room, already talking before he'd seen Harry. "Where are you? You're late for practice and—" He stopped short just behind the recliner when he saw Harry and Hermione.

Harry motioned for Ron not to yell. "Don't wake her up."

Ron glared at them both. "What in the bloody hell are you doing?"

"Cuddling, Ron. I'm sure you've heard of it." Harry deadpanned. " _Don't_ yell."

Ron's face cycled through several shades of red, each darker than the last until his face was purple. He kept opening and closing his mouth, gobsmacked, but no words came out.

Harry snatched his wand from the table beside the sofa, casting a quiet, " _Muffliato,"_ around Hermione.

Seconds later, Ron's voice boomed throughout their common room. "She's my—"

"Please don't tell me she's your girlfriend anymore because she _isn't_." Harry interrupted. There was a tick in his jaw while he counted backwards from twenty before opening his mouth again. Even when he did, he realised he had nothing to say.

"Maybe not anymore," Ron muttered sourly. "No reason for you to be cuddling my ex-girlfriend if you're my best mate though."

She shifted again, bangs falling into her face while she nuzzled Harry's neck. His chest constricted while he meant to think of a way to diffuse the argument, but he was momentarily sidetracked by the sleepy smile she wore.

Hermione was Ron's ex-girlfriend, but if there was even a chance that she was Harry's almost something, then he didn't want to let go.

Harry cleared his throat. "We aren't dating." While it was true, Ron's glare fell to the young witch resting below his arm, and the truth didn't appear to count for much.

Ron took a long look at the two of them, gritting his teeth. "You're a lousy friend."

"That's rich coming from you," Harry said. "All Hermione needed was time to be with her parents, and you couldn't give her that. If anyone is lousy, it was you as her boyfriend. And you were a lousy friend before that." Had he not had Hermione draped half-way across his chest, Ron would have struck him.

She yawned, stretching her hands out in front of her. Hermione grinned at Harry. "Thanks." She brushed stray pieces of hair behind her ears.

His heart was in his throat, and Harry should have stopped her from saying anything else since they weren't alone. Yet he didn't. "For what?"

"I just always sleep better with you." Hermione's eyes were bright, her smile wide, and she twisted away from Harry. Her shoulders tensed when she came face to face with Ron. "What…"

His hands were curled into fists at his side. "Sleep with Harry often?"

As Hermione started to be the voice of reason with her, "Ron, we aren't—" Harry cut her off.

"Every night." Harry's tone was mocking, and he didn't feel guilty as Ron stormed out of the room, slamming the portrait behind him.

She sprung to her feet, all mirth vanishing from her face. "Why did you say that?"

Bristling at the tone of accusation, Harry opted for blunt honesty. "Because you do, and I don't want him to think there's a single chance that you'll ever give him a second chance." Not that he'd thought of it previously, but if Hermione _did_ give him another shot, she wouldn't be sleeping in his bed anymore, and the thought threatened to pull all the oxygen from his lungs. "That's why."

She blinked, her shoulders slumping. "I wouldn't."

"Perfect." He ran his fingers through his hair, messy from a night's sleep, and Harry stared at his bare feet. "They're waiting for me on the pitch. Swing by the hospital wing after practice. I'm sure that's where I'll be since Ron and I are likely to have another row."

"In mid-air?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll—" He wasn't prepared for her to launch herself at him, and Harry barely caught her. His arms winding around her waist, he stumbled backward. The edge of the couch caught the back of his knees and they toppled over. "Not that I'm complaining, but what is this for?"

This time she was fully conscious as she nuzzled his neck, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You know why."


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione sat on the lawn that extended toward the Great Lake. She'd laid out a quilt her mother had packed for her, one made by Hermione's late grandmother. Her textbooks were laid across it, and currently, it was her DADA book that was open. Occasionally, the wind would flip the page before she was done, but it was an easy Sunday.

She certainly wasn't outside because Harry was at quidditch practice and would walk past her once he was done. Hermione was distracted by her studies, enjoying her second read-through of the updated Lycanthropy section. Only she'd completed her foot-long essay. If she'd proofread it once, she'd done in five times. She glanced up every once in a while, sometimes glimpsing the Gryffindor team high in the air.

Harry had spotted her and subsequently flown higher than the rest of the team to sneak a glance at her again.

It caused her heartbeat to quicken.

As the practice ended, Hermione _was_ engrossed in a novel she'd bought while in Diagon Alley. So engrossed, that she didn't notice Harry walk up to her or hover until he nudged her with his foot. "Hungry?"

Harry helped her gather her textbooks while she kept a tight grip on the novel, hiding the slightly risque cover behind her back. When he handed Hermione her bag, she quickly tucked it inside. "Are we going to the kitchens?" There was little scolding in her voice as he hooked his arm through hers. "Harry, you shouldn't—"

He shook his head. "The house-elves prepared something for me, but we're going to eat by the Great Lake."

Judging from Ron's glare as the passed, Hermione knew they must not look _only_ friendly. Things were still icy between all three of them. Ron muttered things neither of them could hear under his breath, but Hermione wasn't certain she wanted to know. None of it could be good, but rumours were already circulating in Hogwarts.

First years weren't nearly as good as they thought they were at muffling their voices without the aid of magic. Ron had said to several others how his best mate had stolen his girlfriend. From what she could see, either no one believed Ron, or they had nothing spiteful to say about Harry.

His fingers squeezed her forearm while tugging her closer. "What are you thinking about?" Harry had pulled her into the curve of his arm, wrapping an arm around her waist, but his hand didn't dip too low. Settled just above her arse, all she could focus on was his breath sliding against her skin. "Hermione?"

Her head snapped up, and to her own mortification, slammed the top of her head against the underside of his chin. "Oh, God. Harry, I'm _so_ sorry. Are you—"

Harry dropped the broom that was still held tightly in his hand and took a quick step forward. He'd cradled her face between his hands and pressed his lips to hers before she realised what was happening.

Her hands fell to her side, slack, for a moment as her bag crashed to the ground. Hermione fisted her hands in his shirt, pressing herself to him. "Harry," she murmured before his mouth covered hers again. She wasn't sure how long they stayed there with Harry, him walking her backwards and her back meeting the tree behind them.

It wasn't until her fingers brushed the familiar pin on his shirt that she yanked away from him. Hermione glanced around, pleased to see no one was around to watch them. "We're Heads." Hermione gasped lamely, her blush creeping up her cheeks. "We can't just snog wildly out in the open."

He smirked, and Harry looked more like himself than he had since she'd landed in Grimmauld Place at the end of the summer. "Yeah?"

She nodded, hiding her hands behind her back and tucking them against the tree. Hermione didn't trust herself to not slide her hands into his hair and pull him to her. "We're supposed to be an example."

Harry grabbed his back, unzipping it before pulling a familiar piece of fabric from it. "Then we just won't let them see us."

Hermione couldn't find the voice to complain when they fell to the grass in a tangle of limbs, completely hidden.

* * *

A week passed, and they were no closer to smoothing things over with Ron. Hermione worried about the friendship between the boys becoming irreparable, but it was clear that Harry didn't mind.

The Great Hall was a flurry of activity in the morning. To her right, Ginny chatted animatedly with Neville, a familiar smile on her face while she listened to him prattle on about a new plant they were studying in Herbology. Hermione kicked Ginny under the table, and the redhead nudged her back, not tearing her eyes away from Neville.

Hermione was in a state of in-between where she knew everything had changed with Harry, but wasn't sure where it left them. They'd been sharing his bed since the beginning of the term, which she'd fooled herself into believing that it was only for their combined nightmares, and hoped that he'd never noticed her uneven heartbeat.

Within a week of snogging him for nearly an hour, she didn't mind that he couldn't keep his hands to himself.

While lost in a rolling train of thoughts, Harry's fingers skimmed her knee. Beneath the table where no one could see, he pulled her robes a bit higher, where he was free to trace the bare skin there.

Hermione stiffened while he easily carried on his conversation about the match that weekend with Dean and Seamus.

Then his hand slid higher, not doing anything really, and Hermione jumped in her seat. Her knee slammed against the underside of the table, and everyone stared. She swallowed. "Something was touching my leg."

Ron pushed away from the table, scowling. "Yeah, I'll bet."

* * *

She'd never understood how couples thought snogging in a boom cupboard was comfortable, but as the top of a broom dug into her spine. Still, it was difficult to focus on the small space with the way Harry was kissing her. His hands were on her hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles over the skin exposed as her shirt slid up.

"Fuck, this is uncomfortable," Harry laughed.

She grinned. "Are you complaining?" Hermione pressed her lips to his throat.

He groaned. "Definitely not." He tilted her head up.

Unable to help herself, Hermione joked, "We're supposed to be patrolling."

"I'm sure Filch can catch the ones out of bed while we take a break." Harry's hand slid up the back of her neck, leaning down. "I never realised how short you are until I was snogging you."

She blinked. "I'm of average height."

"Far shorter than me."

She wasn't much shorter than Harry, but she only rolled her eyes. "Whatever you—"

The door flew open, and they sprung apart. Hermione's head knocked against the iron shelf fastened to the wall. She groaned in pain, clutching her head. As she looked up, she found Headmistress McGonagall staring down at them with an amused look on her face. "And what do we have here?"

Harry recovered before Hermione could launch into an apology. "Looks like the cupboard is in good shape. We were just cleaning, Professor McGonagall."

The older woman arched a brow. "Oh, were you cleaning it with Miss Granger's back? It would appear so since you had her against the wall."

Hermione's cheeks caught fire.

Harry's smile was blinding. "I'm quite resourceful."

Professor McGonagall snorted. "Quite, Mr Potter. You're just like your father. The two of you may return to your dorm. I've completed your patrol for the night."

* * *

Early in the morning, Hermione rolled over. She threw her arm out, reaching for Harry, but she was met with the still warm sheets left in his wake. Sighing, she flopped onto her back.

Today was his last practice before the match against Slytherin, which had been the talk of the school for the last two weeks. At the beginning of the term, no one was sure there would be a Slytherin team that year. That had been until Harry struck up a conversation with Malfoy, and Malfoy had pulled a decent team together.

She sat up in the middle of the bed, a cold draft meeting her legs as she tossed the sheets toward the foot of the bed. The floor was cool against her feet and she padded across the room. There was a low creak as she opened the wardrobe, reaching in to find one of Harry's shirts. Not planning to leave the dorm anytime soon, and since his clothes were more comfortable, she didn't think he'd mind.

Her hand met a solid surface instead of the usual rack of clothes. Hermione's eyes widened as she recognized the pensieve. Harry had kept it tucked away since bringing it back, and it was the first time she'd seen it since.

It was a terrible idea, she knew, to pull it from its place. Hermione made her back onto the bed, shirt thievery long forgotten. Sitting it in front of her, she stared at it for several long moments. Across the top of the basin, what she knew to be memories swirled inside of it. She traced the edge, her nail sliding along the runes etched into the basin.

She glanced at the doorway, but she knew Harry wouldn't be back for some time. The fact that it was an invasion of privacy should have stopped her, but it didn't.

* * *

When she'd leaned toward the basin, and the smoke coming off of the surface, Hermione hadn't known what to expect, and she didn't recognise her surroundings at first.

Hermione stood behind Harry, who at the time had only been a second year, while he sat at the foot of a bed in the hospital wing.

Her breath left her lungs as she took in the scene. A much younger version of herself lay in the bed, petrified, and she saw the crinkled page trapped in her hands.

Hermione barely had the time to note the bitter sadness on Harry's voice as he mumbled an apology before everything shifted.

She knew it was the Chamber of Secrets that she was dropped into.

Somehow, the final version of Voldemort, with his serpentine features, was even more frightening as she saw the boy he'd once been. Bile rose in her throat as she watched.

Riddle explained in a deceptively calm voice how Ginny had opened the chamber, Ginny had written in a diary for an _entire_ year, but Harry's anger was only simmering until Riddle spoke of the four _Mudbloods_ that had been attacked.

And then Riddle boasted how he was the best wizard to have ever lived, and Hermione's eyes nearly popped out of her head when Harry confidently pointed out that the title belonged to Albus Dumbledore.

It was a _memory._ Harry was _alive_ , and in the middle of a quidditch practice, but nothing stopped her legs from giving way as this version of Harry lunged toward the basilisk—

—And drove into the serpent's mouth. A fang pierced Harry's shoulder, sinking in, and blood spilt openly down his arm.

She was sobbing, Hermione could hear herself as Riddle threatened how Harry would die in the middle of the Chamber of Secrets. Despite knowing Fawkes' tears had saved Harry, her heart ached.

Fawkes dropped the diary into Harry's lap, and he stabbed the diary.

Hermione thought Riddle's screams would echo inside her head forever.

She wondered if it was the same for Harry.

* * *

Hermione landed in a memory that she remembered all too clearly. Seated inside the Great Hall was herself, joined by Ron and Harry. The students of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang waited for the champions to be revealed.

Cedric Diggory, Fleur Delacour, and Viktor Krum were called by Headmaster Dumbledore.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as Harry's name jettisoned from the fire and into Dumbledore's hand.

Ron's face contorted into something sour while Harry appeared to be panicked.

She followed as Harry was led away, and the memory ended as Professor Dumbledore calmly asked, "Harry, did you put your name on the Goblet of Fire?"

* * *

Watching Harry perform the first task while being chased by a dragon was no less nerve wracking than the first time. Maybe it was because she could see the fear, and determination written across his face.

Still he succeeded, but an interesting portion of that memory was when she burst into his tent to hug him.

She'd never noticed how he held onto her for a little longer than what was considered normal.

* * *

When Cedric Diggory died, and Harry appeared while carrying his body, there was no stopping the tears that rolled down her cheeks. She wiped her face, watching as the school split into two sides.

Those who believed Harry and those who had regretted calling him a liar later.

* * *

Hermione couldn't have imagined the memory to follow. Though she could see why Harry had pulled it from his head and tucked it away where he didn't have to live with it.

Harry broke the taboo. She watched as regret ate at him, his humbling apologies as she saw herself shoot a hex at his face, but she already knew it wasn't enough.

Her surroundings changed, bleeding into one another until Malfoy Manor surrounded her. Draco Malfoy could not identify them. Well, he refused to. She saw that now as he murmured that he couldn't be sure.

The memory rapidly changed and Hermione wondered if this was what it was like inside of Harry's head.

Harry and Ron were dragged into the dungeons, leaving Hermione at the mercy of a crazed woman who couldn't possibly have a soul left.

She watched as Harry pulled at the bars of the cell, screaming until he was red and his voice was hoarse.

Her stomach twisted as they forced Harry to listen to her screaming, and she knew then that a sonorous had amplified the sounds of her torture _._

It only grew worse as Harry and Ron were freed. They escaped, Ron saving her from the plummeting chandelier, and then Dobby died.

Hermione had forgotten just what the war had felt like, and that disgusted her.

* * *

Harry died inside the forest during the Final Battle. Everyone knew that, but she hadn't been prepared to see it. Not that she thought there was any way to prepare for that.

Hermione watched in terror as he marched into the forest, to Voldemort and his followers. Her knees threatened to give out as the Killing Curse struck him and his body fell to the ground.

It all felt so raw that it would have been easy to forget that _her_ Harry was alive and well right that moment.

Especially when she could feel his fear moulding with hers.

* * *

Dripping in sweat, Harry kicked off his shoes as he entered the dorm. Hermione would probably trip over them later and tell him he should really put them up, but he continued ridding himself of his quidditch kit.

He kicked open his bedroom door, running his fingers through his hair as he stepped inside.

Harry stopped short.

Surprised to see him, Hermione's cheeks were streaked with tears. "Harry—I,"

He stared at her, his anger slowly bubbling up. "What the fuck?" His pensive was still resting in front of her. "Hermione."

She hung her head, rising from the bed to return the pensive to where it belonged. "I had no right. I should have never," Hermione choked on a sob.

Despite being upset, he caved as she began to cry. "Just come here." He wrapped his arms around her, relaxing as she nuzzled his neck. "It's a lot to take in."

"I'm so sorry."

He combed his fingers through her hair the best he could without yanking it. "I'm still upset," he winced as she hiccuped, "but I've never been able to stay mad at you."

She pressed her hands into the small of his back, holding him close. "I saw you die." Her voice broke.

Harry sighed. He slid his arms underneath the back of her knees and behind her shoulders. "'Mione," he whispered. Harry sat with his back to the headboard, bringing her to his chest. She laid her head in the crook of his neck. "I'm okay. I'm not going anywhere."

"Malfoy Manor."

He nodded. "I know."

"They cast a spell to make my screams louder. I'm so sorry you had to hear that."

His hand found her arm where she wore a glamour, self-conscious of the scar cursed into her skin like a brand. "It's my fault you were there."

"I've never blamed you," Hermione said weakly. "You shouldn't either."

He didn't agree but remained silent while tightening his arms around her.

"Does the pensive help? Can I ask that?"

"You can ask anything you like." Harry kissed the top of her head. "It helps, but you're the best form of therapy I've ever had. No pressure," he added jokingly. "Don't feel obligated to—"

Hermione turned in his arms, cupping his face and pressing kisses all over his face. "It's the same for me."

There were no words after that, only her clutching his shirt while he kissed her.


	7. Chapter 7

"Have you decided on a dress for the Yule Ball?" Harry interrupted her for what must have been the eighth time, and she found him smirking as she slammed her quill down.

She pinched the bridge of her nose while exhaling harshly. Sat at the Gryffindor table over dinner, she was trying—and failing—to finish her notes for the Yule Ball. There was still so much to do. With only three weeks left, they were still organising the prefects into teams for decorating. "What? No, I haven't had the time."

Ron muttered under his breath that she spent too much time studying to focus on that.

She gritted her teeth. Whenever he spoke to her, he only spoke _about_ her, and Hermione was long past trying to excuse his behaviour. Ron would never own his flaws, and she elected to ignore him. Butting heads with him wouldn't do any good.

Harry didn't do the same. "You ought to try it sometime, mate. If you're still planning on becoming an Auror, that is." His gripped Hermione's thigh beneath the table as she stiffened, a well-practiced move he'd done many times since their relationship had changed. "Instead of mocking Hermione for studying, you also ought to admit that you're just angry she dumped you."

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione muttered under her breath.

Ron's face grew red. "Piss off. It wouldn't be so bad if you weren't rubbing it in my face you're dating her." And just like that, their section of the table grew deathly quiet.

Their peers stared at Ron. Neville's fork was halfway to his mouth. Hermione knew that everyone had noticed the shifts between her and Harry, likely long before either of them had. It was silly to think about considering they'd been sharing a bed since the start of term, and she foolishly said it was just for the nightmares.

That and the fact that she _liked_ waking up with her leg draped across his while laying tangled in a mass of sheets.

Regardless, Ron had just admitted his jealousy aloud, and from the look of his face that morphed into an ugly, deep red, he hadn't meant to.

"That reminds me." Harry snapped his fingers with a grin. He turned to her. "You haven't decided on a dress, but have you decided on a colour?"

"What?" She was normally quick on the uptake, but with everyone staring at her open-mouthed, Hermione couldn't think straight. "Harry, is this important right now?"

He nodded. "We're meant to match, so…"

There was a loud humming in her ears as Ron stood, leaving dinner in his fit of jealousy.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Did you just ask me to the ball?" She asked quietly, leaning forward to whisper in his ear so no one else could overhear.

He chuckled. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Well," Hermione swallowed. "I'd hoped you would, but I didn't expect it to come in the middle of dinner while everyone was watching. Oh, God, Ron… You planned this!" She accused.

"Do public displays of affection make you uncomfortable?"

The sudden question jarred her, but she was more focused on the way he was tracing the inside of her thigh because he _knew_ how it got to her. "Not particularly. I would take points from someone after curfew—mph!"

Harry's finger wound into her hair, and dropping his head, he pressed his lips to hers.

It was dizzying with the way her head spun as the Great Hall erupted into loud cheers around them. She was certain that someone had slapped Harry on the back by the rough way his chest met hers. She fisted her hands in his robes, tilting her head, and eagerly kissing his back.

As it ended, Hermione was left to stare at Harry in awe. She knew her hair was fucked, though it was normally wild anyway, and that her lips were bruised. From the head table, Headmistress McGonagall was staring at them, her hands raised in a low clap as if something had finally come together.

* * *

"And then she snogged him in front of the entire school!" A second-year Hufflepuff gushed.

Hermione's cheeks grew hot as she hurried past them, books clutched to her chest. The memory was still vivid to her, and apparently to everyone else who had witnessed it. Making her way to their dorm, she showed her books on the table and hurried into her bedroom to change.

While she'd only slept in the room for half a night at the start of term, House Elves kept it meticulously clean. There was not a single layer of dust throughout the room. Opening the wardrobe, she tugged her shirt over her head and grabbed a thick wool jumper.

Harry waited for her just outside the castle, hands tucked in his pockets while standing in the middle of the path to Hogsmeade. "You took forever."

Hermione took his extended hand, threading her fingers through his as he kissed her temple. "There was a line in the library. There's a book I needed for our next Defence assignment. You can borrow it once I'm done."

"Which assignment?"

"Djinns," Hermione replied. "It's only to brush up on what we've already learned, but Madam Pince ordered new books on them, and I'd like to learn about them." Snow crunched beneath her shoes as they meandered down the path. For once, they had the night off from patrols while the prefects handled it.

Harry paused, halfway turned back toward the castle. "Uh, when was that assigned? I probably wasn't paying attention."

She waved him off. "It's due after the winter hols."

"You're joking!"

She bumped her hip against his. "Definitely not joking."

Hogsmeade was packed with students. Everywhere she looked, someone was laughing, and a few times, she saw a couple sneaking into an alley. Idly glancing at Harry, she wondered if that might be them before the end of the night.

"What would you like to do?" Hermione asked. "Dean and Seamus are waving, maybe we should—"

He tugged on her hand, leading her into the Three Broomsticks. "It's a date, Hermione."

Her heart warmed. "Right."

Harry led them to a booth at the end of the shop, and she slid into the side facing the rest of the crowd. "Butterbeer?" He asked, and she gave a nod.

She relaxed in the booth, setting her beaded bag beside her while craning her head back to look around the shop. One thing in particular caught her eye. In a dimly lit corner, Ron sat with Padma.

Interesting.

Hermione ducked her head down when he glanced up. Better to mind her own business than to be caught acting like a nosy swot. As Harry returned, he gave her a curious look while sliding her mug to her. It met her open palm, and she leaned her head toward where Ron was sitting. "Apparently their date in fourth year wasn't as disastrous as it appeared."

Harry took a long drink of his butterbeer. "That's nice. Maybe he'll stop harassing you."

She wanted to say that Ron wasn't harassing her, and she desperately wanted that to be true. "Maybe," Hermione said. "His worst reaction was still after you caught the snitch in the match against Slytherin."

"You'll be unsurprised to find that I'm not upset about it." He rested his arm on the back of the booth, and he twisted strands of her hair around his finger. "It's a great memory in my book."

Of course, he thought that. After he'd caught the snitch, effectively winning the match against Slytherin, Hermione ran onto the field. She had jumped into his arms and kissed him hard right in front of the entire school for a _second_ time. Ron had blown up, yelling that they didn't need to make a bloody show of everything.

"Are you excited about the ball?"

"Even more so than in our fourth year." Hermione answered. "Have you ever noticed that I don't like quidditch, but go for quidditch players?"

He laughed. "Yes, you have a type."

* * *

The day before the Yule Ball, they only had one assignment over the course of the day. In Potions, they brewed Amortentia, which led to Hermione smelling something completely different from the first time.

"Parchment, treacle tart, and sandalwood." It was an odd combination, Hermione thought, but when she stepped backward, she could pick each of those things for Harry. Her mouth dry, she watched while he stepped up to the cauldron.

His reply came without hesitation. "Lavender, ink, and books." Harry returned to her side while their classmates turned to look at them.

Potions was their last class of the day, and once they were released, Hermione shouldered her bag as she made her way to the library. She needed to return two books before they left for hols, but browsed anyway. As she entered the Restricted Section with a pass from Madam Pince, she allowed her fingers to skim the spines poking out of the shelves.

Something shuffled behind her. "Hello?" She whispered, but there was nothing there. "Harry, I swear if you're sneaking up on me that I'll put you bollocks between your shoulders." Seconds passed, and she was convinced that she was making something out of nothing.

Sometime later as she pulled a book on time travel, something slid up her spine. Her blood ran cold as she realised it was a finger, and her hand shot into her robes for her wand. "Hermioneeee," Had he hoped dragging out her name would sound spookier?

She punched him wildly, and as the invisibility cloak pooled on the floor, she saw that the blow had met his shoulder. "I told you not to scare me! I knew it was you."

"You punch like a hippogryph," Harry muttered as he rubbed his shoulder. "What are you looking for?"

She waved a finger in his face. "Don't change the subject. What are you doing, sneaking around and scaring me like that?" Hermione took a step backward when he stepped closer, his hands coming up to lay flat on the bookshelf on either side of her head.

"I just thought," Harry began innocently, dropping his head as his lips skimmed her jawline, "that I would visit the library with my girlfriend."

Her heartbeat stuttered in her chest, her hands rising to rest on his forearms as he caged her against the shelf. Hermione cleared her throat. "You're not interested in studying."

Harry grinned. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

She sniggered. "You realise you've truly just awarded points to Gryffindor, don't you?" Hermione brushed the hair from his eyes. "It's recorded in the headmistress's office. You'll have to award them for a reason, not just—"

He cut her off, catching her wrists and holding her arms over her head. "Fine," Harry uttered. "Ten points to Gryffindor for…" His thumbs applied pressure to the middle of her wrists, and she experimentally tugged. Harry didn't allow her wrists to move an inch. "Because the Head Girl is so good at snogging."

Hermione gasped. "Oh, Merlin. Professor McGonagall will read that!"

Madam Pince shushed them from somewhere nearby, and her heart threatened to stop.

"If you yell again, we'll be caught. I don't think you'd like that." Harry rasped. His mouth was hot on her throat, his tongue tracing her pulse point as she slumped against him. "Cast a silencing charm if you like."

"I can't," Hermione muttered. "My wand is in my pocket, and you won't let go of my wrists."

He peeked at her. "Do you want me to?"

She shook her head. "No." A moment passed. "Well, yes actually, but only so I can touch you." No sooner than Hermione had said it, his grip fell away, and he massaged her wrists as she slid closer to him. "Do you think we can both fit beneath the cloak?"

"I'm sure we could, but I'm sure Madam Pince catches couples snogging all the time." Harry lifted an eyebrow, asking her a silent question she didn't have the answer to. "Hermione?"

She gulped. She was sensible. It was clear from the many nights she slept in his bed, and in the mornings that Hermione woke before him where their relationship would eventually lead. "Common room. Right now."

He all but chased her there. As they rounded the corner of the corridor, a fourth-year caught Harry by the sleeve. "There's a duel in the courtyard."

Harry blew out a harsh breath. "They're probably fine."

Hermione coughed. "What Harry means to say is that he'll report this right away so we can take care of it." She shot Harry a heated look.

Davis scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, I don't think you're going to have time for that… They're arguing over a girl."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"We'll take care of it." Hermione interjected, pulling Harry away. "Come on. You can sulk later."

He muttered under his breath that Hufflepuff was going to lose many points before the semester ended.

* * *

The Yule Ball came together without a problem, which left Hermione on edge. There _had_ to be something that had gone wrong, and she felt as if she were waiting for the inevitable.

But there was nothing.

She danced with Harry for most of the night, laughing while he spun her, and sighing in happiness when she was able just to sway with him. At one point, she crossed paths with Padma while grabbing a drink, and there was a tense air around them while Hermione looked anywhere but Ron's date.

"He's sorry," Padma mumbled. "I don't think he's realised that yet, but he is."

Hermione choked. "If you say so."

Harry tugged her away from the ball early, whispering the question into her ear of whether she'd like to return to their common room. They made an unnoticed exit. Leaving the ball behind them, Hermione slipped her hand into his while walking through the stone walls of the castle.

"Did you have a good time?"

She nodded. "It was wonderful." A smile spread across her face as he swung their hands, effortlessly twirling her as the walked.

"You're beautiful."

Colour rose to her cheeks, and Hermione glanced away. "Thank you. This dress really—"

"I said that _you_ were beautiful. The dress is pretty too, but I meant you." Harry reached up, pulling the vintage pin from her hair.

Her hair brushed against her shoulders as they came to stand in front of their portrait. Stepping inside, she sighed. "I'm ready to get out of this dress. It's just too tight."

"Here," Harry's fingers moved over the corset back, slightly fumbling, and he loosened it. She hadn't noticed that he'd stepped closer until he kissed her neck. "Sorry, can't help myself."

Holding her dress up by folding her arms across her breasts, Hermione tilted her head toward the bedroom. "Come on." She pushed the door open, making her way to the wardrobe before stealing one of his shirts. "Do you mind?"

"I'll be offended if you change your mind now."

Not that he could see it, but Hermione rolled her eyes. She let the dress pool on the floor while her back was still to him, and she slipped the shirt over her head. She debated turning around even though she knew she would have to at some point. They were on the edge of something, and she knew it.

Surely Harry knew too.

A cold chill met her bare legs as she pivoted on her foot. "Harry."

He stood at the dresser, swallowing two potions. Until that moment, he'd never let her see the potions, and she'd wondered if he was still ashamed. "Those always taste awful." Harry grimaced. "You would think they could make them taste better."

Hermione closed the distance between them. "They could, but they don't in case a child tries to drink them. If they tasted sweet, the child would chug them."

The vials clinked together as he laid them on the dresser. "You know that I took thirty points from Hufflepuff, don't you?"

She hadn't known that. "Was there a legitimate reason? If not, I may have to report you to the headmistress. The Head Boy shouldn't bully students."

"I'm sure we could work something out even if there hadn't been a reason, but I caught one of them smuggling firewhisky into their dorm. I confiscated it."

"Naturally."

He pulled one drawer open. "But I didn't hand it over so you may have to dock points anyway."

Hermione let out a loud laugh. "I'm not even surprised." She pushed the drawer shut. "But we won't be needing that." Taking his hand in her own, she led him toward the bed. The mattress dipped below her knees as she settled in the middle of it. "Harry?"

He stood frozen at the foot of the bed. "Just a second," Harry breathed. "I just want to remember you like this, with you in nothing but my shirt."

She lunged forward, wrapped his tie around her hand, and yanking him into the bed. "You don't have to remember it, Harry. I'll always be here." Moving to straddle him, her knees pressing into the bed on either side of him, she cut off whatever he would say next.

His hands wandered, testing the waters, until his fingers brushed her thighs. As she shivered below his hands, a weak sound escaped her. "God, you're so…" Harry shifted them, moving to sit upright with his back against the headboard. There were no words exchanged as he pulled her to sit between his legs. "Can I…?" His hand was against the inside of her thigh, sliding upward, but he paused.

"Yes," she replied weakly. "I wanted to that day in the library, but then there was that duel."

His shirt slid up as she moved, parting her legs.

"Farther, Hermione," Harry pleaded just beside her ear, and she spread her legs. "Fuck, you're all I've been able to think about since we brewed Amortentia." His fingers barely touched her clit. His arm rose, locking across her chest, and she clutched it with both hands, her nails digging into the skin.

He touched her slowly, whispering in her ear how pretty she was, how badly he'd wanted to see her like this, and how the real thing couldn't measure up to his fantasy.

Her lips parted. "More," Hermione whispered.

Harry didn't hesitate, and his fingers slipped into the waistband of her knickers, the rough pads of his fingers pressing against her sensitive clit. He rubbed slow circles at first, quickening his pace when he learned what each of her moans meant.

She buried her face in her arm as her body tensed. "Oh, Harry." She gasped, shuddering. "I'm—"

"Yeah?" Harry breathed. "Please, Hermione. Let me see you when you come." He brushed the hair away from the nape of her neck, pressing his lips there as he moved to her throat. His teeth just grazed the skin when he slipped a finger inside of her. "Oh, fuck."

Her head fell back as she whimpered. Hermione repeated his name under her breath, in short pants as his fingers pumped into her. "Harry, I think—"

"Let go." He murmured in her ear, his thumb brushing her clit as two fingers curled inside of her. "That's it."

It was a shriek that tumbled from her mouth, and she pressed herself closer to his hand as she slumped against him. "Oh, God," she whispered into the pillow as she laid down. "I don't want to move from this spot."

He smirked. "That's doable."


	8. Chapter 8

Students would begin boarding the train within half an hour, but somehow—she knew exactly how—Hermione and Harry were running behind. As Heads, they should have already arrived in Hogsmeade, levitating their trunks behind them, so they could usher students onto the train before they had a repeat of an incident in their fifth year where a student had been left in Hogsmeade.

However, Harry wanted to make use of one last broom cupboard. "Harry!" Hermione hissed. "There's a bed at Grimmauld Place or a sofa. Despite what you might think," he pressed his mouth to her neck, dragging a gasp from her. "I _don't_ enjoy this broomstick digging into my back."

"Didn't complain before," Harry mumbled, his tongue tracing her collarbone.

She slumped against the wall, and she knocked the broom away from her. "Yes, well, we need to be at the train station right now rather than snogging in a cupboard."

"Do we though?" He tugged her sleeve to the side, pressing slow kisses to her shoulder. "I just can't keep my hands to myself."

"Tell me about it." Hermione groaned.

Harry took it as an invitation. "Well," he drawled, his fingers skimming the sides of her breasts, "Let's start here."

Her breath caught. "That's not _quite_ what I meant." Hermione gasped. Her eyes were screwed shut tightly, and she didn't make a single move away from him. "But... go on."

He smirked. Harry's hand slipped beneath her jumper, his skin hot against hers as he cupped her fabric clad breasts. "So soft," he murmured under her ear as he tugged the cups down. His thumbs swiped across her nipples, earning a not so quiet whine. "They're so fucking pretty, and you like to tease by changing in front of me where I can't even _see_ you."

A chill rolled down her spine as Harry ducked his head down. He held her up by wrapping one arm around her waist and closed his mouth around her nipple, slowly flicking his tongue across the point. Hermione moaned his name, wishing she could reach her wand that was laying unhelpfully on a nearby shelf.

They really should cast a silencing charm before a student passing by found the Heads like they were.

His hands slid down her sides, and his fingers hooked into the belt loops of her jeans. "Hermione."

Someone banged on the door, and Harry righted her bra before fixing her jumper for her. "Last call for the train," Dean called, amusement clear in his voice. "Unless you want to be stuck here for winter hols, you'd better stop shagging in a cupboard."

Her face heated as Harry clasped their hands together and led them from the closet. Dean and Seamus grinned. "Snogging in the cupboards now?" Dean laughed.

Harry shrugged, tightening his fingers in hers. "We have a lot to make up for in the last seven years."

* * *

The train ride to Kings Cross wasn't a silent one. Harry and Hermione sat with the majority of their friends, though Ron was content to remain silent in the corner.

Ginny offered nothing to the conversation while she sat with Neville. She wore a bright smile while peering over Neville's shoulder to read the Herbology book he was engrossed in.

As they disembarked, they both waved to Mrs Weasley but stepped to the side as they gathered their luggage. "Ready?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded and Apparated from the spot into the walls of Grimmauld Place. She immediately coughed, covering her mouth. "Dusty." She managed an explanation.

Harry snorted. "I'll work on the cleaning charms."

"And set up some automatic cleaning charms," Hermione muttered under her breath.

* * *

They went into Diagon Alley for a Christmas tree and found the pickings to be slim to none. "We could go into the muggle world," Harry suggested while she looked at each tree. "I'm sure they're running out, but…"

Hermione shook her head. "We would have to go to Gringotts and covert out money. I don't want to do that when they're up to their eyes in holiday crowds, do you?"

Harry looked around them, and she'd already forgotten what she'd said by the time he replied. "Well, goblins are pretty short. So even if they are up to their eyes in crowds—"

She swatted his chest while laughing uncontrollably. "Harry!"

He caught her by the wrist, tugging her to him, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "What about that one?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "Was that always there?" Hermione's brow furrowed. Out of all the trees, most had been decrepit, but this one wasn't. "How did we miss that?"

Harry snorted. "It was probably because we were paying more attention to each other than the trees."

"Yes, well, you _do_ keep grabbing my arse."

"It's quite lovely."

She rolled her eyes and hurried over to the tree before someone else could buy it. "This would be perfect. What do you think?" She fluffed the tree, taking a step back to look at it once more.

"Yeah, perfect," Harry answered, and she noticed that he wasn't looking at the tree at all.

They bought decorations in the colours of Gryffindor before stopping for lunch. With their tree and decorations already delivered to Grimmauld Place, they parted shortly after to shop for gifts.

* * *

"No, a little to the left," Hermione instructed while wobbling on Harry's shoulders. "Oh, my God, I'm going to fall."

His snort wasn't refined. "If you'd stop wiggling, you wouldn't fall." Harry's hands roughly gripped her thighs, holding her steadfastly in place. "Hermione, just put the bloody star on the tree."

"Move to the left then!" She hissed.

"I did!"

She sighed. "Your other left then, Harry."

He muttered under his breath but did as she asked. Hermione placed the star at the top of the tree and tried not to fall on her face as he set her on the ground. "There's hot chocolate in the kitchen."

She kissed his cheek, murmuring a thanks before leaving him to fall onto the sofa. Grasping both mugs, she returned to take the seat next to Harry, and their fingers brushed as she handed him his mug. "What are you thinking about?"

The back of his head rested against the sofa, and he stared at the ceiling. "I'm still surprised that McGonagall gave us permission to leave together. I expected her to force us to stay at Hogwarts."

She nodded. "Yes, it's a little surprising. It was nice of Ginny to still invite us to the Burrow, but she knew we weren't going to take that offer."

A smile spread across his face. "Did she tell you that Neville is visiting the Burrow for Christmas?"

She hadn't.

Harry continued, "I'm glad she's happy. I thought things would be awkward, but maybe this is the relationship Ginny and I were always meant to have." He pulled at a loose string in the sofa's fabric. "Ron will come around. I know it bothers you, but eventually, this will work itself out."

It was so like him to remain reassuring, but Hermione shook her head. "I hope he will be able to hold a civil conversation one day, preferably soon, but I don't think our friendship will ever be what it once was. Not after a breakup, and then his attitude toward us. I expected him to act like a prat to me, but he's treated you in such a way that it's almost like you haven't been friends for so long."

He traced her jaw. "It's all right."

It wasn't, not to her anyway. "Have you thought about what you want to do after graduation? Are you still planning to enlist in the Aurors?"

"Yes, but Dr Smith will have to sign a release form for me to enter training. I'm not so sure he will."

Hermione set her ceramic mug on the coffee table and crawled into his lap. Straddling his waist, she cradled his face. "Are you mental? Harry, you've come so far since the end of the war. Of course he will."

He didn't appear to believe her. "I hope so."

As much as she wanted to reassure him, Hermione worried it might seem too much like she was smothering him, and she let it go.

"Have you thought about after graduation?"

Her shoulders fell. "I wanted to work in the Ministry, but after the last several years, I'm not sure it's the place for me now. There is an internship—which pays little—at St Mungos. It's not exactly what I want to do, but if I have it in my transcripts, it would be much easier to enter a Potions Mastery program."

"Potions?"

"I've thought about this a lot." Hermione prattled. "After all the potions I've taken since the end of the war, there are so many that have terrible side effects. I'd like to work with reducing those side effects."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "You have thought about this a lot."

"There's just one thing that I keep coming back to. I'd love to make new potions, but of course, the research would take years. I want to help others, Harry, and this route… I wouldn't be helping for a long time, perhaps ever, if I can't discover—"

He covered her mouth with his hand. "You will. You're brilliant."

She clasped her hands in her lap. "Thank you."

Harry leaned up to kiss her lazily, and their mugs were forgotten when he shifted, laying her on her back while he hovered over her.

* * *

They stirred before the sun rose.

Her leg was slung over his waist, his shirt slipping off of her shoulders as she cracked one eye open. "How long have you been staring at me?"

"Not long. I just woke up." Harry said. "Your nose twitches when you're sleeping, did you know that?"

Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. "I—no, I didn't know that."

"It's adorable." Harry caught her by her hips and draped her across his chest. "Happy Christmas." He murmured as his lips brushed hers. "I know that we bought the tree, and it's beautiful, but I don't particularly want to leave this bed at all."

She didn't mean to press her pelvis against his the first time, but once she felt a hard bulge pressed between her legs, Hermione absolutely meant to the second time. "That's doable."

Harry recognised the words he'd used on her following their time after the Yule Ball and his eyes narrowed. "Absolutely, but first— _Accio_ Hermione's presents." With a flick of his wand, the bedroom door creaked open, and two boxes flew onto the bed.

She arched an eyebrow, pointing her wand toward the door. " _Accio_ Harry's presents." Grateful she'd thought to give him two gifts rather than one, Hermione watched as two more foiled wrapped boxes landed on the bed. She moved off of him, reaching for the first box which she assumed was a book.

"You didn't have to get off of me," Harry said.

"I think you and I both know we wouldn't have opened presents at all if I hadn't." Hermione crossed her legs and waited for Harry to pick a gift. "Open yours first."

He shook his head. "No, you open yours first."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, why don't we open them at the same time?" Harry ripped his present open and Hermione tore the pretty wrapping paper away from the book.

In her hands rested a copy of _Hogwarts: A History._ She'd lost count of how many times this particular volume had been gifted to her, but there was something different about his version. She flipped the cover open, and a scream lodged in her throat. "I can't possibly accept this. Harry, it must have cost a fortune!"

He waved his hand. "Not at all."

She gave him a withering look. "This is a first edition."

"Astute eye." Harry grabbed her hand. "I really want you to have it. I can't think of anyone else that should have it more than you. I know you haven't read it in some time, but you'll find that there are several parts that have been removed from current editions now."

Hermione ran her hand over the cover. "How did you find this? There couldn't have been many copies for sale now."

He muttered something quickly under his breath.

"What was that?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Malfoy, uh, helped me. I asked him after a prefect meeting if he would know where to find one. There was a book collector in France he could put me in contact with."

She threw herself at him, abandoning the book at the foot of the bed as she feverishly kissed him. "Thank you."

Harry joked that if this was the thanks he got, he would gladly do it several times more.

She pulled away from him so he could look at his gift, but made no move to slide off his lap. "It pales compared to your gift," Hermione whispered as Harry traced the photo album. "But Professor McGonagall was helpful in the recovery of these. I'm not sure where she found them."

It was a leather-bound album, housing all the photos of James and Lily Potter, and eventually Harry, in existence. She knew that Remus and Sirius made appearances, but the last photo was tragically dated on Halloween of 1981.

"Don't compare them, 'Mione." He whispered. Harry's voice was thick. "This is—no one has ever—"

"You deserve to have them."

The kiss he gave her was desperate. "I love it."

Her smile was watery. "I'm glad."

"And I love you." Harry leaned his forehead against hers. "I love you so much, and I don't know how I never saw it before."

Her heart slammed into her rib cage. She combed her fingers through his hair. "Oh, Harry," Hermione pressed kisses to his cheeks, to his forehead, and wrapped her arms around him. "I love you."

Harry pressed a small box, her second present, into her hand. "Please open this so I can see your reaction."

She pulled the decorative string that was wrapped around the box before tearing off the paper. Hermione's eyes darted from the box to Harry and back to the box as she slowly lifted the lid. It was a necklace, white gold, but she noted a vial attached as well. Holding it up, light trickled through the vial, meeting the iridescent liquid inside. "Harry?"

"It's a memory." He swallowed. "It's just a copy of the memory since I'm attached to it myself."

She didn't want to move even for a moment. "Your pensieve is at Hogwarts. Will you tell me what it is?"

He nodded, his fingers brushing her sides. "It's us. I'm not great with words, Hermione, but I want you to always know how much I care about you."

Her voice was stuck in her throat. All of their memories rested in her palm, meant to be close to her at all times, and there for her to relive at any time. "This is perfect."

He tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Maybe you shouldn't open the other gift." Hermione said. It was only quidditch gloves, and Harry had just given her two of the most thoughtful gifts anyone had ever given her.

Releasing a chuckle, he sighed. "Didn't I tell you not to compare? You're the best gift, Hermione. You gave me something I hadn't known I needed." Harry cupped her cheek, his lips skimming hers. "Happy Christmas."

She relaxed against him. "Would you put this on for me?"

Harry clasped the chain around her neck, and it was warm against her chest. "Looks good on you."

She grinned. "Do you mean the necklace or your shirt?"

"Oh." Harry drawled, flipping her onto her back. "You know I can't possibly choose."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really just like to say thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me your thoughts if you don't mind!


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